Return
by Ivytree
Summary: What's Spike and Willow's plan? Can Buffy and the demon army protect the Hellmouth? What did Spike see? CHAPTER 37 - NEW.
1. The Strumpet Wind

Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Distribution: OK, but let me know.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: An alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVs, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT!!!   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
Part 1. The Strumpet Wind  
  
  
Slate blue storm clouds tumbled across the sky; thunder cracked and lightning sizzled. Buffy, Giles and Xander raced up the darkening street towards the park. Jonathan had confirmed where Warren intended to perform his ritual -- techno-pagan rites funneling power from the Hellmouth, making him master of Sunnydale -- and they knew Willow, with Anyanka's help, would soon intercept him.   
  
"We've got to stop them!" Buffy cried, "they can't come back from this, Xand!"  
  
"Right behind you," Xander panted.  
  
"More speed, less talk," Giles gasped.  
  
They heard another crash of thunder, and blue-white light illuminated the scene before them. A twisted wreck of silver metal lay on the grass, smoking, its original form and function indecipherable. Willow stood before a pentagram marked on the grass with yellow spray paint, her arms upraised, magical winds tossing her hair about her face. Her eyes were black with power and rage. Grimly beside her stood Anyanka, her face demonic, somehow supplying her with extra force. Before her was Warren, caught and held like a fly in amber in a flaring bubble of energy. They saw him writhe, and heard his muffled screams.  
  
"We're too late!" Buffy sobbed. God, she wished Spike were here; his speed and strength might have stopped Anyanka, at least.   
  
Sensing their approach, Willow spun to face them. The look of cold fury never left her face.  
  
"Don't try and stop me," she hissed. "He's going to suffer. He's going to pay."  
  
Buffy halted a few feet away. "Willow," she said, in a reasonable tone, "he's not worth it. This is not what Tara would want."  
  
"Think about it, Will," Xander said, urgently, "she wouldn't want you to hurt yourself or anyone else. That's not what she was about. Anya -- please -- "  
  
"Warren has loosened the constraints on the Hellmouth already;" Giles said. "If your power is joined to it the barrier could rupture -- the town and everyone in it could be killed, or worse." As he spoke, he surreptitiously fingered a bag of magic Unoro powder in his pocket. When he got close enough, he planned to toss it and hope enough would stick to Willow to break her concentration.  
  
Seeing Giles edge closer to Willow, Anyanka snapped, "Don't listen to them! It's a trick!"   
  
"You won't stop me!" Willow cried, "I know what you're up to! It's your fault - all of you!" As her head fell back, she began an incantation, and a wave of force stunned Buffy, Xander, and Giles, knocking them off their feet. A gale shrieked and Buffy staggered up again, bracing herself against the lashing gusts. She saw Willow stretch her arms out to her sides; lightning played across them, arcing from hand to hand --  
  
-- And the deafening winds ceased abruptly. A door-sized portal blinked into existence directly behind Willow. An arid, rocky landscape was visible through the door, with sunlight blazing down. Buffy's heart turned over. Framed against the bright opening stood the black and white figure of Spike.  
  
TBC  
  
  
How like a younker or a prodigal   
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay,   
Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind!   
How like the prodigal doth she return,   
With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails,   
Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind!  
  
Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice 


	2. Life Stands Suspended

Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Distribution: OK, but let me know.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: An alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVs, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT!!!   
  
---------------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
Part 2. Life Stands Suspended   
  
Spike stepped through the doorway and reached forward, seizing Willow's outstretched hands and, still holding them, wrapping his arms around her body, holding her fast. "Sorry, Red," he said conversationally, "Can't let you do that." The portal disappeared behind him. The flashing blue glow of power surrounding Willow was suddenly snuffed out, leaving only an acrid smell.   
  
There was a moment of stunned silence. Warren fell to the grass, unconscious. Anyanka began to back away, staring fearfully at Willow and Spike. Willow began to struggle and scream, but they could see her eyes were normal again.  
  
"No! No! What did you do to me!" she howled, "what did you do!"  
  
"Stopped this. It should never have begun," Spike said sternly. Something about his voice was odd, unsettling.   
  
"My magic! Where's my magic?" Willow cried. Spike released her, not ungently, and she fell to the ground, weeping. "What did you do to me?"  
  
"Here it is," he said calmly. "Look." She gaped up at him as he held out one hand, palm upwards; a ball of blue light danced on it. Then he closed his hand, and the light disappeared. He looked directly at Anyanka. "Now it's your turn," he said. "Make your choice."  
  
She looked at him, obviously terrified. "I'll die," she whispered.  
  
"You know what to do. Do it now."   
  
Buffy stared at Spike, but his eyes never left the demon.   
  
Giles and Xander struggled to their feet. Xander staggered towards Anyanka, but she held up a hand to stop him. With the other, she tore the amulet from her neck, and her face instantly metamorphosed back to human. Her eyes were frightened and filled with sorrow.  
  
"Anya!" said Xander desperately, "Don't trust him! Whatever he wants you to do, fight it!"   
  
She shook her head. Tears streamed down her face. "She promised she would never hurt you," she said to him. "I would never have helped her otherwise. Please believe I'll always love you." Then she threw the pendant down and smashed it with her heel; as it shattered she collapsed.   
  
"No! What did you do to her!" Xander knelt down and gathered Anya up in his arms. "Oh, God, Ahn, please be alive! Please be alive!"  
  
"Of course she's alive," Spike said. "She'll need to rest up, though."  
  
Giles cautiously advanced towards Spike, who looked at him and smiled suddenly, causing him to stop short. He had never seen Spike smile like that, and he didn't like seeing it now. Spike held his hands out in a gesture of peace.  
  
"Nothing to fear, Rupert. No tricks."  
  
Giles felt a prickle at the back of his neck. He looked at the vampire standing before him very closely. "Who are you?" he said.  
  
"Don't you know? Old brain's starting to go at last, is it?" That certainly sounded like Spike.  
  
"We could do with some explanations," Giles said, striving for a tone of authority. "Why are you here? And, more importantly, where have you been?"  
  
"Back to The Beginning, Rupert," Spike said seriously, once more with that odd quality to his voice. The timbre was the same, and the accent was the same, but they seemed to hear an echo, somehow, so faint it seemed almost illusory.  
  
"That's not Spike," Buffy half-whispered. But he heard her, and turned his head to look into her eyes; she felt her heartbeat quicken, and she knew it was Spike.   
  
"'Course it is, Slayer," he said, sounding just like himself once more. "With a few modifications, is all." He looked around, sharp-eyed. "Not much point in hanging 'round here all night, is there? What did you plan to do with him?" he said, nodding at Warren's unconscious form.  
  
"We, ah, actually hadn't gotten that far," admitted Giles. This was odd. Something tugged at his consciousness, something he'd forgotten. He felt a powerful urge to clean his glasses.  
  
"What with the apocalypse and all," Buffy said tartly, remembering the panic she'd felt finding Spike gone without a word. Right when she needed him! she thought resentfully (conveniently forgetting all the times she'd needed him and he had been there). And now here he stood as if nothing had happened.   
  
Spike caught her eye and smiled, like he knew exactly what she was thinking.   
  
TBC  
  
  
"The continuity of being is lacerated; the settled course of sentiment and action is stopped; and life stands suspended and motionless."  
  
Samuel Johnson 


	3. The Deep of Night

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Distribution: OK, but let me know.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVs, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT!!!  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 3. The Deep of Night  
  
  
Buffy, Giles, Spike, and a yawning Dawn sat around the dining room table in the Summers house, drinking tea. It was three in the morning.   
  
Warren had been delivered to the police, who were looking for him and very glad to have him in custody. Xander took the unconscious Anya home, having been repeatedly assured that she was alive, permanently human, and uninjured, but had simply used up the last of her strength. Giles and Buffy put an oblivious Willow to bed upstairs; she hadn't spoken or moved since her collapse. And Dawn had been collected from her hiding place, Spike's crypt, where she'd spent an uneventful evening playing gin rummy (unless you counted winning twenty-five dollars) with Clem.  
  
"Why did you go away like that?" Dawn asked Spike plaintively. She had been clutching his hand almost continuously since first seeing him. "We needed you."  
  
"Sorry, Little Bit; there was something I had to do. I didn't know all this was going down, did I?"  
  
"You're going to stay now, aren't you?" she said, trying not to yawn again.  
  
" 'Course I am."  
  
"Dawnie, you should get to bed," Buffy said. "You can talk to Spike tomorrow."   
  
"Yes, there'll be time enough for explanations later," Giles said. "Off you go."  
  
"You're just going to talk about stuff you don't want me to hear," Dawn said resentfully. But she was so sleepy her heart wasn't in it. She stood up and hugged Spike. "Promise you'll tell me all the secrets tomorrow?"  
  
"Cross my heart."  
  
"Okay. 'Night, Giles," Dawn said. Then she hugged Buffy too. " 'Night."   
  
They waited until she got upstairs to continue any serious discussion. Buffy couldn't take her eyes from Spike. He looked the same -- he wore the same black coat, jeans, and boots he always wore, his platinum hair was neat -- but somehow he seemed so different. He was relaxed. That was it. He wasn't twitching with energy, or scowling like he'd rather be elsewhere, but rather sat still and contained, quite calm. Most un-Spike like. And he wasn't --  
  
"Bloody hell," he said, feeling in his pockets. "D'you mind if I smoke?"  
  
After a moment of stunned silence, she managed to say, "No, that's okay," and looked desperately at Giles. They exchanged a wary look as Spike lit a cigarette, both thinking the same thing. They had known Spike, one way or another, for five years, and he had never asked anyone if they minded if he smoked. In fact he rather hoped they did mind. Who was this guy really?  
  
Giles cleaned his glasses.   
  
"Ah, Spike," he said, "where exactly have you been?"  
  
"Ethiopia," Spike said, inhaling gratefully, and breathing out a long, dragon-like plume. "For a start."  
  
"How the hell could you get there and back so quickly?" Buffy exclaimed.  
  
"You saw how," Spike said. "I clicked my heels three times. Anyhow, it wasn't quite so quick from my end."   
  
"But why Ethiopia?" pursued Giles.  
  
"Because that's where I needed to go," Spike said, reaching in his pocket again, "to get this bleeding chip out. In a manner of speaking." He dropped a shiny, inch-long piece of silicon and plastic on the table before them. "Thought I'd have it bronzed. Oh, relax," he said, looking at their startled faces, "believe me, it's not a problem."   
  
"Not for you, maybe -- " Buffy began hotly, but Giles interrupted.   
  
"But obviously you're channeling some -- some immense source of power, so that's not all that happened, is it?" he asked.   
  
" 'Course not," Spike said. His face was amused and almost affectionate. Giles found it most disconcerting. "Come on now, Rupes. I've given you plenty of clues. Get that brain in gear."   
  
"Ethiopia," Giles mused, " 'The Beginning' -- My God!" he exclaimed, springing up suddenly.   
  
Spike looked up at him. "*Now* you're getting it," he said encouragingly. They stared at each other, Giles rather wild-eyed.   
  
"Will somebody please just tell me what the hell is going on?" Buffy shouted. Maybe they were just this annoying because they were English, and it had nothing to do with good or evil at all. She wanted to smack Giles just as much as Spike at the moment.  
  
"I think -- that is, well, he, he -- it was thought to be a legend -- there's never been any confirmation -- any accurate confirmation -- it's very ancient and the reports are hardly reliable -- I, I never thought it was in fact possible -- "  
  
"Giles, you're babbling!"  
  
"Perhaps something a little stronger than tea would be in order," Spike said soothingly.   
  
"God, yes!" Giles said.   
  
TBC  
  
  
"The deep of night is crept upon our talk,   
And nature must obey necessity,   
Which we will niggard with a little rest."  
  
Shakespeare, Julius Caesar 


	4. Things That Be to Things That Seem

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Distribution: OK, but let me know.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVs, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
SOME SPOILERS  
-------------------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 4. Things That Be to Things That Seem  
  
  
A bottle was produced (from Giles suitcase) and two glasses of excellent whisky poured, without ice. Spike and Giles, in gentlemanly silence, took several appreciative swallows. Buffy gritted her teeth. She didn't want whisky. She wanted information.  
  
"So you are -- ?" Giles said at last, cleaning his glasses furiously. He yearned for reference materials and his notebook.   
  
"He's what, already?" she said testily.  
  
"The First Watcher."   
  
"What!?"  
  
"Spike contains the, ah, soul of the First Watcher," said Giles.  
  
"Not just the First, Rupert," Spike said gravely. "All of 'em."  
  
"What!?" Giles and Buffy exclaimed together.  
  
"Not all of them, surely?" Giles said, incredulously. "That would be well over a thousand!"   
  
Spike sighed.   
  
"Okay, maybe not quite all. More like half. Look, here's what happened. The short version. I got a tip from -- from a friend, so I went over there to get the chip out. For various reasons. I met up with the blokes I was put on to, they set me some tests -- and that's a whole other story. Passed the tests, and got a reward -- my choice. When I told 'em what I wanted, they offered me this as a way to get it."  
  
"It's s legendary event described in ancient texts of the Council of Watchers," Giles said pedantically, giving Spike a curious look, "called 'Thisavrizo.' I've heard of it -- vaguely -- but I thought it was metaphorical. I never dreamed it was truly possible."  
  
"What does it mean, exactly?"   
  
All at once Spike changed. He sat differently; he spoke differently. Buffy and Giles both noticed the queer, feathery echoes in his voice. "I share my body with the other Watchers, the ones who are gone. I have their knowledge and skills, their experience fighting the foe. And their memories," he said.   
  
"So there's like this big Watcher-soul repository -- in Ethiopia?" said Buffy, frankly skeptical.  
  
"I don't think Spike was actually in Ethiopia for long, Buffy," Giles explained gently. "Or anywhere on this plane of existence."   
  
"Oh," she said faintly.  
  
The altered Spike went on. "Any Watcher can join us when his time comes. Each one decides; some remain, some leave this world for good. They do not leave entire souls, but fragments chosen to aid you."   
  
"To aid us?"   
  
Spike turned to Buffy. "To aid you," he said. Suddenly he changed again, and looked much less sure of himself. He took a large swallow of whisky. "See, that was my reward, Slayer."   
  
Buffy leaned forward, and touched the back of his hand. "What was?" she said.  
  
He met her eyes. "I asked them to let me help you," he said simply. "That's what they offered. The souls of the Watchers."   
  
TBC  
  
-------------------------------------------------  
  
"Sweet the genesis of things,   
Of tendency through endless ages,   
Of star-dust, and star-pilgrimages,   
Of rounded worlds, of space and time,   
Of the old flood's subsiding slime,   
Of chemic matter, force and form,   
Of poles and powers, cold, wet and warm:   
The rushing metamorphosis   
Dissolving all that fixture is,   
Melts things that be to things that seem,   
And solid nature to a dream."  
  
Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Undersong 


	5. Plain Daylight

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: An alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVs, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT!!! But not so much this time.  
-------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 5. Plain Daylight  
  
In the end, out of sheer exhaustion, they decided to adjourn until the next day. As Spike set off for his crypt even he seemed almost too tired to keep his eyes open.   
  
Buffy staggered to bed with her head whirling. She half hoped this was a dream. She had longed for Spike to come back -- come home, she almost let herself think -- but she wanted things to be the way they were. She'd wrestled with the idea of making it -- or something -- work when he returned. On her terms, of course. He'd always accepted them before. "Not complaining here, Slayer," he'd said.   
  
A new, improved Spike was the last thing she expected (though it was what she should want, wasn't it?). But it didn't even make sense; demons didn't change. She knew that. She fell asleep clinging to the thought. And trying not to imagine the cool pillowcase beneath her cheek was cool, fair skin over steely muscle instead.  
  
Bright sunlight on her eyelids brought her awake with a start. She looked at the clock - 9 A.M. already! Thank God it was Saturday, and she had the day off. She sat up, shoulder muscles aching, groaned, and stretched. Her heart ached, too, and she wondered what on earth they were going to do about Willow. And Anya. And Xander. And Giles slept on the couch! She flung herself out of bed and scrambled into some clothes.  
  
In the sunny kitchen she found Giles and Dawn sitting at the counter in complete harmony, eating cornflakes. "Hey, guys!" she said brightly.  
  
"Good morning, Buffy," Giles said warmly. His shoulders were no longer braced with the tension of the past few weeks. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
"Yeah, but not enough," she said, stifling a yawn. "Is there coffee? God, I wish we had doughnuts."   
  
"Xander's usually doughnut man," Dawn said unconcernedly. She rather unfairly blamed Xander for Spike's sudden departure, and still felt a little cool towards him. Sure, it didn't make sense -- Spike's going had after all turned out to be a good thing. But Dawn felt she didn't have to make sense after what she'd been through. Anyway, she was sixteen. "When's Spike coming back?"  
  
"Well, he might be a bit too fatigued to travel by day as he used to," Giles began. They heard the front doorbell. Buffy sighed and went to answer it.  
  
When she opened the door she stifled a yelp. Spike stood there in the bright sunshine. "What are you doing?" she gasped. "Get in here!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the door, slamming it. Who did he think he was, dammit?  
  
"Are you nuts?" she said fiercely. "Been so busy with supernatural hanky-panky that you forgot what you are?" Then she noticed two things. First, he wasn't smoking even a little bit. And secondly, he was looking at her with the most melting expression in those blue eyes. And before breakfast, too. She looked away, feeling herself blush.   
  
"Don't worry, lo- Buffy," he said. "Not a problem. Look, Ma, no flames."   
  
"Stop saying that!" she snapped. "I wasn't worried! I mean, I was, but - and stop looking at me like that!"  
  
"Like what?" he said very softly.  
  
"Like you know what's going on, and I don't!" Oh, fine, now I'm a shrew, she thought. I need some coffee.   
  
"Spike!" Dawn squealed, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the living room.   
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"Nothing is poetical if plain daylight is not poetical; and no monster should amaze us if the normal man does not amaze." G. K. Chesterton 


	6. Heart and Soul

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: An alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT  
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 6. Heart and Soul  
  
Sitting in her own living room, drinking much needed orange juice, and watching Spike talk -- with Dawn and Giles apparently hanging on every word -- was a surreal experience. It made Buffy lightheaded; or maybe that was the lack of breakfast. But nothing seemed rational anymore.  
  
Her world was unquestionably awry. Tara was gone; she wasn't even ready to think about that yet. Willow was unhinged by grief, who knew how lastingly. Xander was shattered by his near-loss of Anya, whom he truly loved. Anya almost let despair drive her to renounce humanity forever.   
  
But here were Dawn, Giles and Spike sitting comfortably in her home together like nothing had changed. Dawn, her sister and charge, so in need of protection, so brave and calm in this latest emergency. Giles, who had left her, but returned without question when the crisis arose. And Spike. Gone when she thought she needed him most, only to return to save the day. In the nick of time, even. The last person she had expected to see -- she had to smile a little, for the first time in weeks.  
  
She sat observing his paradoxically vital face. He had the liveliest countenance she'd ever seen. Nothing was ever simple with Spike; every expression held layers of meaning too subtle to ever pin down, here and gone in an instant. When he was angry, he revealed stores of malice and leashed violence truly startling even to her; when he told her he loved her, that beautiful face showed her the joy, the bitter humor, and the pain of his situation more delicately and thoroughly than words. She let her eyes trace the line of his jaw, the smooth, silky-looking white hair brushed back from his forehead, the angle of his cheekbone. Then she caught herself, suppressing a gasp. Uh-oh.   
  
"It was bloody hard to get used to at the start," he was saying. "We've worked out a system now, but at first I'd suddenly find I was arguing with myself in three different voices. Got some odd looks, I can tell you."  
  
"They argue?"  
  
"Of course they argue, Rupert, they're Watchers. Hell, I think they even have meetings. But now I don't need to hear it. It's like I've got rooms in my head," Spike went on, "with doors in between. And if they want to talk to me they have to knock, and if I want them, for translating Tagalog or hand-carving a throwing axe or something, I have to knock."  
  
"So it seems familiar and natural, not confusing and esoteric."  
  
"Childishly simple, really. Well, it isn't, but it seems like it."  
  
"You know, you never did say how this process resulted in removal of the chip, though obviously it has done."  
  
"Oh." Spike said with a sardonic grin. "I did that myself, after all. What you might call the 'think system.'"  
  
"Simple teleportation, you mean?"  
  
"Spot on. Takes a bit out of you, you might say, but it's not too difficult, really. Not the sort of thing you want to fool about with, though."  
  
"I see. You can access the knowledge as needed." Giles looked at him very thoughtfully. "Could you channel specific personalities, if you wanted to?"  
  
"Don't see why not."   
  
Giles looked as though he wanted to pursue this angle a bit further, but Dawn said, "So you're all soul-having now, right?"  
  
"Almost more than I can handle, Bit."  
  
"I mean, you've got your own back, right? Besides all those other people?"  
  
"Right."   
  
"You seem to be, ah, coping with it well," Giles said.  
  
"Helps to have help. They want the use of my body, and it wouldn't be much use to 'em if I ended up huddled in a corner for ninety years, like certain flaming nancies I know. Not to mention it's been longer for me than for you lot, so I'm used to it by now."  
  
"So how long were you gone -- from your end?" Buffy said.   
  
Spike looked at her, and something smoldered behind that look. She dropped her eyes first. She had missed him painfully, and as far as she was concerned he'd only been gone a month. Something started to sing inside her. "Not really sure," he said. "Time's different there. It seemed -- a lot longer."  
  
"Like years?" Dawn said.  
  
"Well, yeah; like years."   
  
"So did you expect to find me all grown up with kids and everything when you got back?" she pursued, wise in the ways of sci-fi.   
  
"No, 'cause I knew I could get back to the right time. Learned a few new tricks, see."  
  
"I can well imagine." Giles said with some enthusiasm. "The raw knowledge alone -- I should expect you have assimilated rather a lot of sorcery, for one."   
  
"Divination, Thaumaturgy, Conjuring, Necromancy -- stay away from that one, Rupert -- Wizardry, Theurgy; Anthropology and Archeology, Medicine -- might come in handy, Philosophy, History, Literature, Classics -- hmmm, knew those already, Psychology -- could definitely use that around here, Strategy, Tactics, the Art of War, and about a hundred languages, not including dead ones. And I know how to build a mud hut, ferment beer and hunt down a gazelle with a spear -- I get those from the earlier blokes, I expect."   
  
Buffy couldn't help smiling again. "Gazelles of Sunnydale, beware!" she said.  
  
"Handy, indeed," Giles murmured. "What on earth is Theurgy?"  
  
"What did you mean you already know philosophy and history and stuff?" Dawn asked, singling out one fact he had hoped to put off discussing indefinitely.  
  
Spike hesitated. He meant to stick with the truth from here on, so it was now or never, he supposed. Better get the embarrassing bits over as soon as possible. "Well, long time ago, before I -- died, I went to college, Niblet," he said cautiously, avoiding Buffy's eye.  
  
"You mean you graduated and everything?" Dawn said almost accusingly. This was not cool. Some rebel. Always been bad, eh?  
  
"Well, yeah, I did."  
  
Giles regarded him thoughtfully. "Where?"   
  
"King's College, Cambridge."  
  
There was a long pause. "Well, I suppose one might consider that an education," said Giles, an Oxford man, at last.   
  
A happy thought struck Dawn. "You can help me with my homework!"  
  
"Oh, the joy," said Spike. "Should have mentioned it years ago."  
  
Dawn stood up. "Giles, how about a doughnut run," she said. "I'm absolutely starving to death. We never have enough food around here."  
  
"All right; we are a bit short on supplies, and I wouldn't mind a jelly," Giles said. "Perhaps we should check on Willow first."   
  
"No, we'll see to her; you go ahead," Spike said, rising.   
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"Thou tak'st thy way, carrying the heart and soul   
That Nature gives to Poets, now by thought   
Matured, and in the summer of their strength."  
  
William Wordsworth 


	7. In Likely Thoughts

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT!!!   
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 7. In Likely Thoughts  
  
  
Buffy knocked on the door of what she still thought of as her mother's bedroom. "Will?" she said softly.   
  
There was no response. Exchanging a glance with Spike, she opened the door. The drapes were drawn, the room dim. Willow still wore the same black clothes of the night before. She sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight and feet flat on the floor, with her hands in her lap, fingers twining together. She never looked up, but stared at her fingers as if they fascinated her.  
  
Buffy moved closer, Spike a wordless shadow behind her. "Will?" she said again.  
  
Willow leapt up suddenly, and yanked back the curtains, flooding the room with sunlight. Unhesitatingly, Buffy sprang into a defensive pose. Spike stepped back into the shadowed part of the room without haste. Willow stood still as if she were waiting for something to happen.  
  
Then after a few moments she said plaintively, "I should get to school."   
  
Recovering herself, Buffy put a hand on her shoulder. Willow didn't look at her. "It's Saturday, Will," was all she could think of to say, "you don't need to go anywhere."   
  
"I should get to school. Tara's at school. I can see her there."  
  
Buffy looked rather desperately at Spike, but he just shook his head slightly, his face impassive. She put her arm around Willow, and guided her to sit on the bed again. "She's not there, honey," she said. "Tara's gone."  
  
"No," Willow said flatly. "She's not mad anymore."  
  
"Willow look at me." Buffy tried to turn her around and look into her face, but Willow resisted, never meeting her eyes. "Tara's gone. She's dead, Will."  
  
"I'm glad you're back, Buffy. We're all glad you're back. We missed you so much. Spike's glad you're back, too, right?" She looked up at him briefly, her eyes full of fear. He nodded, but with some reserve, and she dropped her eyes to her folded hands again. Tears began to slip down her cheeks unheeded.   
  
Buffy felt a chill of fear up her spine. "Willow?" she said, pain twisting like a knife in her chest. She looked at that downcast face for some sign of her own Willow -- the girl who feared spiders and cared about the safety of bunnies, who loved first a werewolf and then a witch so wholeheartedly. The girl who chose to stay and fight evil by her side, instead of escaping to the ivy-league education she had earned. But she saw nothing she recognized; this woman's face was shuttered, her heart hidden. How had she come from being that open, confiding girl to a grief-ravaged fury, willing to risk the world and everyone in it for nothing but revenge?   
  
"I'm really tired now," Willow announced. "I'm going to sleep."   
  
"Will, look at me," Buffy said painfully, again with no response.  
  
"Could you leave me alone now?" Willow said with an awkward assumption of her former perkiness that was worse than anything else. "I want to have a nap. I don't feel very well."   
  
Buffy was about to speak again, but Spike said quietly, "No use, love. Not now. Best leave her alone like she wants."  
  
She rose unwillingly. Willow lay down suddenly on the bed, curling up with her back towards them. Buffy and Spike went out to the landing and she closed the door behind them.   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Despair and hope make thee ridiculous:   
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,   
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly."  
  
Shakespeare, Venus and Adonis 


	8. Love's Riddles

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SPOILER ALERT!!!   
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 8. Love's Riddles  
  
  
As they went down the stairs from her mother's bedroom, Spike grimaced.   
  
"Well, it's a good defense; won't last long, though" he said.  
  
"You don't think she's -- that she's just -- "  
  
"Gone nuts? No fear. She'll remember. Just doesn't want to."  
  
"I can understand that. I wish I didn't," Buffy said, half to herself. There were some things she'd rather not recall, too. A lot of things.   
  
"Be a while before she gets what happened," Spike continued somberly. "First there'll be bits and pieces, then it'll all come back to her."  
  
"I feel like I don't even know who she is," Buffy faltered. "She was my best friend. But I don't know what to do for her."   
  
"Not much you can do. There's no physical damage, but she refuses to face what she did. It'll be bad when she does; no getting 'round that."  
  
"It was like she couldn't wait to get rid of me." Buffy stood in the kitchen doorway and rubbed the back of her neck absently. She was still tired. Usually she could cope with lack of sleep, but today was already wearing her out, and it wasn't even noon yet.   
  
"You should have some real breakfast before the doughnut van arrives," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Keep your strength up."  
  
"I will, if Dawn hasn't eaten the last scrap of food in the house." She pulled herself together, and decided to make ready for the influx of pastry by fixing more coffee.  
  
"She's quite the growing girl," he said. "Think she'll ever stop?" Watching her potter about the kitchen seemed so natural. Spike remembered watching Joyce do much the same things, opening the same cabinets, filling the coffeepot at the sink. He had imagined being unremarkably welcome here a thousand times, chatting about Dawn, or ordinary everyday things, with no angst, or fear, or anger.   
  
Unknowingly fulfilling his fantasies, Buffy poured the last of the milk on her cornflakes and groused, "She's about a foot taller than me already. It's hard to put your foot down with someone who looms."  
  
"Hard to put your foot down with any of the Summers women," he said. "I never could."   
  
Buffy put her spoon down, her heart beating faster as she looked at him. "Spike -- "  
  
"Come on, love, eat up," he said. She noticed he was still leaning against the counter, heavily. Her chest tightened with sudden alarm. Oh, no! Nothing can happen to him now that I've got him back.   
  
Dammit, it's true, she told herself, startled. I love Spike. I admit it. I love Spike. Happy now? And it's making me stand here arguing with myself like a looney.   
  
She stared at him with some concern. "Are you all right? You're not sick or something, are you? This Watcher thingy you're doing isn't dangerous?"  
  
He looked surprised. "Bit knackered, is all. Dimensional travel's no picnic at the best of times." These hadn't exactly been the best of times, he didn't say. She didn't need to know everything.  
  
Buffy took charge. It felt good to know just what to do, although the practical thoughts she busied herself with couldn't drown out that voice underneath crooning dizzily, 'you love him, you love him, you know you do.' "You go sit down this minute," she said firmly, resisting the voice's call to just put her arms around him, and hustling him back to the living room. Relatively gently, she pushed him onto the sofa, and stood with her hands on her hips, studying his drawn face.   
  
"What is the matter with you?" she said. "Why do I have to fall in love with the stupidest men on the face of the planet? Did you have anything to eat last night? Or were you just too busy showing off your mystical revelations?"  
  
"Um -- " Spike looked up at her, rather dazed by this barrage, and speechless for once. He did feel a bit wilted. Now that she mentioned it, he had forgotten to eat, even though Clem had thoughtfully stocked his fridge with pig's blood and beer. Though even that hardly explained this curious languor; he hadn't felt this drained (so to speak) in years. Buffy stood before him quivering with righteousness and concern, neither of which he'd ever imagined would be applied to him, at least not with any favorable result. She looked so beautiful, so small and vibrant, and he'd been alone for what seemed like a very long time. He wasn't sure whether to fight for his dignity or just give up right off.   
  
Wait a minute -- why did she have to what?  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Yet I would not have all yet,   
He that hath all can have no more,   
And since my love doth every day admit  
New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;   
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,   
If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it:   
Loves riddles are, that though thy heart depart,   
It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it:   
But we will have a way more liberal,   
Than changing hearts, to join them, so we shall   
Be one, and one another's All."  
  
John Donne 


	9. Astonishment of Life

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITELY SOME SPOILERS  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 9. Astonishment of Life  
  
  
Just then, Giles and Dawn bustled in the front door with a cheerful commotion, bearing colorful boxes fragrant with fat and sugar. "Anyone for empty calories?" Dawn caroled.   
  
Momentarily thrown off track, Buffy took a breath and came to a decision. She needed a few minutes to herself.   
  
"You guys, Mr. Big Genius Demon Sorcerer here forgot to get anything to eat. So make him drink some coffee and I'll swing by the butcher's," she said briskly, grabbing her keys. "We talked to Willow for a few minutes -- she's not good, but she could be worse." She hurried out, with an apologetic glance at Spike.   
  
"Spike! Why didn't you tell me you were hungry? Here, have doughnuts and I'll get your coffee." Dawn said importantly, heading for the kitchen.  
  
Giles looked at Spike, who was admittedly paler than usual, although he looked oddly cheerful. "Well, you're for it now, you know. They've launched into full Florence Nightingale mode."  
  
"Thought it'd keep 'em busy for a while," Spike said cockily, putting the best face on it.  
  
"Strategy! Dear me. Now that is sly. I'm impressed." Giles leaned back in the armchair with a tired sigh, and selected a jelly doughnut filled with undefinable red stuff. "How is Willow?"  
  
"In denial. Sunnydale special. She doesn't remember anything, for the moment. Wanted to go see Tara."   
  
"Well, unless there's actual brain damage, she'll remember soon enough."  
  
"That's when the bloody balloon will go up," Spike said morosely. "I put a sort of ward on her so she can't hurt herself, but she'll want to, all right -- and anybody who gets in her way." He grimaced. "Won't be pretty, Rupes."   
  
"No." Actually, it didn't bear thinking of. Suddenly he had lost his appetite. "How exactly did you negate her power? That was very neatly done. Is it something specific, or can it be done with any magic user?"  
  
"Simple, really -- "  
  
Buffy always drove carefully through residential streets, but today caution was hardly needed. The town was almost deserted; even she couldn't have caused an accident. Instead of the usual flurry of Saturday morning shoppers and dog-walkers a beautiful sunny day attracted, she saw very few passers-by, and those who were out looked oddly listless. She spotted a few people sitting on park benches or even the curbside. No one looked ill, or particularly upset, and no ambulances or emergency vehicles appeared, but it all seemed very strange indeed -- if you could use that word in Sunnydale.  
  
Oddly enough, her personal problem didn't seem like a problem anymore. Getting away from Spike's distracting presence just made things simpler. The little voice inside her singing 'you know you love him' over and over had convinced her without much difficulty. She loved Spike. She wanted Spike. And she didn't care what anyone said or thought about it. Ever. Now her strongest sensation (besides a physical yearning, which she hoped to assuage very soon) was of overwhelming relief. Struggling with herself had been harder than fighting any demon.  
  
The butcher shop was empty, so her shopping took very little time. Returning home with a good supply of vampire chow, Buffy found a disconcertingly cozy picture. Giles and Spike were engrossed in the (literal, in this case) arcana of Watcher shoptalk. Dawn sat cross-legged on the floor beside Spike, contentedly reading the entertainment section of the morning paper. Amongst them, they had made a considerable dent in the doughnut supply.   
  
Without disturbing her bizarre little family, Buffy stored bags of blood in the refrigerator, and took a microwaved mugful into the living room, setting it down beside Spike. She gave him a significant look, and felt a little tingle of satisfaction as he obediently drank it down without protest. Mission accomplished, for the moment. She ate a doughnut, and felt better.   
  
The doorbell rang, and without even being asked Dawn got up to answer it. Xander and Anya were on the front porch. He supported her with an arm around her waist, and her wan face was pressed against his shoulder   
  
"Can we come in?" he said uncertainly.  
  
Dawn wordlessly opened the door wide, and Xander half-carried Anya into the living room and helped her to the sofa as the others rose. She looked dreadful, her face haggard and her hair disarrayed. Buffy couldn't remember ever having seen her dressed in sweats with no makeup before, and Xander, unshaven, with his dark eyes ringed with shadows, didn't look much better.  
  
"I don't know what's wrong with her," he said in desperation. "It seems like she can barely move."  
  
Giles felt her pulse, and touched her forehead briefly. Anya looked at him, but didn't speak, and her expression was terribly sad.   
  
"Apparently," Giles said, pushing his glasses up, "Warren and Willow unintentionally caused an energy drain that's affecting all of us, not just those who were present, but everyone anywhere near the Hellmouth. Anya was linked to Willow, so it depleted her strength even more. We've all felt it." There were nods of agreement around the room. Buffy looked at Spike, her anxiety somewhat allayed. At least it wasn't something to do with his -- his condition.   
  
"You must have noticed it, Xander," Giles went on. "Lethargy? Lassitude? Unusual exhaustion?"  
  
Xander ran his hand over his face dispiritedly. "If you mean this grinding ache right down to my bones, that's how I've felt that since she left," he said.  
  
"Anya's probably not in danger," Giles said. "She just needs rest, as we all do."  
  
"Do you think I should get her to a doctor or something?"  
  
"It's hard to see how you could explain the situation, exactly," Giles began. "Unless -- wait a moment. There might be another solution. Spike?"  
  
The two Watchers exchanged a steady look. Xander stared from one to the other, puzzled.  
  
Spike twitched an eyebrow. "Think now's really the time, Rupert?"  
  
Giles said briskly, "Let's give it a try, shall we?"  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"The astonishment of life, is, the absence of any appearance of reconciliation between the theory and the practice of life."  
  
Ralph Waldo Emerson 


	10. Surprise of the Change

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
MODERATE SPOILERS   
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 10. Surprise of the Change  
  
  
"Wait a minute! What's he got to do with it?" Xander said angrily. "What the hell is he doing here, anyway?   
  
"You need to drop the attitude, mate," Spike said tightly. "This is really no time."  
  
"This is my house, Xander, and since we'd all be dead if he hadn't come back -- " Buffy began hotly.  
  
"There's no point in getting into a brawl about it," Giles interrupted. "There's a great deal you don't understand, Xander. This most certainly isn't over and we're going to need Spike's help. And Anya needs it now. There's no more to be said."  
  
"What can he do?"  
  
"We'll see that shortly. Ready?" Giles said to Spike.  
  
"As I'll ever be," Spike replied. Then he stood stock-still and closed his eyes for a moment. They watched him expectantly, the tension building, though no one had the slightest idea what they were waiting for.   
  
"Well, now!" he said suddenly. But somehow this was no longer Spike. "Let's see to this poor young lady," he continued in a cheerful, reassuring tone. Whoever it actually was seemed to be Scottish. He perched on the sofa next to Anya and picked up her wrist. Then he laughed a little. "Do you know, Rupert, I don't need a stethoscope? I can hear her heartbeat perfectly clearly, and very strong it is, too. I always wondered about that, and it's quite true, after all. Most gratifying!"   
  
"Good Lord!" Giles said. "Tom MacNab?"  
  
"Got it in one," Dr. MacNab/Spike replied. "How are you, Rupert?"  
  
"I had -- had no idea you'd, um, passed on," Giles stammered, with a mixture of excitement at the success of this experiment and embarrassment at what looked very much like a supernatural faux pas.   
  
"Well, it was a bit sudden, you know," Dr. MacNab said easily. "I'd already made arrangements for the Thisavrizo, read up on the thing, of course, but the reality is singularly interesting. I must say I'm very pleased, very pleased indeed." He looked keenly at Anya, and his dumbstruck audience could almost see a grizzled little man in a tweed suit, with bushy eyebrows and sharp twinkling eyes. It was frankly terrifying. "My dear young lady, you're a very strong, resilient girl. No temperature, breathing fine, heartbeat fine, eyes clear -- and very pretty they are! Rest yourself for a few days, and eat heartily -- not just a lettuce leaf or two! No rabbit food, eh?" he said, ignoring Anya's startled look of horror, "and you'll be up and around in no time. No need to worry this young fellow any longer, is there?"  
  
Anya smiled up at him weakly. "I was afraid I'd feel like this forever, doctor," she said. "I deserve it."  
  
"No indeed, I'm sure you don't, my dear; and you'll be right as rain. Not a thing wrong with you at all." He patted her hand, and rose to face Buffy. "So this would be the Slayer." He met her eyes with respect and curiosity, a complete stranger. "You must be very proud, Rupert," he said, and held out his hand to her. "How do you do, my dear?"  
  
Buffy politely shook hands with whomever it was that possessed her lover. (If that's exactly what he was doing; she wasn't too clear about that.) "Hi," she said weakly. He pressed her hand for a moment between both of his, and looked as though he wanted to say something more, but turned to Giles instead.   
  
"Well, Rupert, it's good to see you. I'm sure we'll meet again. I'd like to stay and chat, but I think I'd best be going -- don't want to wear out my welcome. I'd call this a successful trial run, wouldn't you?"  
  
Giles shook the proffered hand. "May I say it's most reassuring to know you're a part of all this, Tom?" he said.   
  
"My dear chap, we couldn't be in better hands, you know, though I say it myself, as a member of The Committee," Dr. MacNab replied. Giles made a mental note of this; apparently, Spike was quite correct -- the Watchers contained within him did have meetings, which was rather a bizarre thought. The doctor went on, "I was in on the final decision, you know, and I can tell you it was made with great care. No need for concern, I assure you. This has been planned for a long time. Now I really must be going; I fear my host is growing anxious," he said, with an expressive wink at Buffy, who jumped. Then he stood utterly still again, for a few seconds. And then Spike looked back at them once more.   
  
There was a long moment of silence. "What?" he said irritably, surveying their stunned faces. "Did it work?"  
  
"I think I may say it was a spectacular success," Giles said with enthusiasm. He simply couldn't resist cleaning his glasses. "A really remarkable success."  
  
"Why are you lot looking at me like I've gone 'round the bend, then? Or you have."   
  
"It was sort of freaky," Dawn said shakily, her eyes round.  
  
"Freaky is a very, very mild word for what that was," Buffy added.   
  
"You know, I almost wish I had gone crazy," Xander sighed, rubbing his eyes. Anya reached for his hand, with a tentative smile. He kissed her hand, and finally seemed to relax a little. "Will someone please tell me what's going on? Why can Spike do all this stuff? Who the heck was that? Why are we zonked? Where's Willow?"  
  
"Yes, yes," Giles said consolingly, "we'll explain everything. You see -- "  
  
Buffy stopped listening and gazed at Spike. He stood with his shoulders propped tiredly against the archway to the hall, watching Giles, his face impassive. When he had suddenly -- gone away -- her heart had frozen with fear. Losing him like that, with another personality taking over his face, his hands, his beautiful body, stealing them away from her -- and before she had a chance to get reacquainted, too! -- was simply unbearable. She ached to touch him.   
  
Probably it was the whole soul thing making her emotions churn this way, she told herself practically. 'You love him, you love him, you know you love him,' the underneath-voice said. (It didn't seem to have much of a vocabulary.) She let herself drink him in, his electric physical presence, his tough, shrewd, ridiculously romantic, all-too-frank self; it was so satisfying to just not care who knew how she felt anymore. She candidly looked her fill. All at once, as though he could feel her watching him, he looked up and met her eyes.   
  
She rose and quietly went down the hall towards the kitchen, knowing he would follow. When he came near, she looked into his eyes for a few moments, her face open and shameless at last. Then she put both her hands up to the sides of his face, and drew his head down to hers for a kiss.   
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"How he lies in his rights of a man!  
Death has done all death can.  
And absorbed in the new life he leads,  
He recks not, he heeds  
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike  
On his senses alike,  
And are lost in the solemn and strange  
Surprise of the change."  
  
Robert Browning 


	11. Journeys End

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
SITUATIONAL SPOILERS  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 11. Journey's End  
  
  
Buffy's arms twined around Spike's neck, and he slowly slid his around her waist. His lips were cool, soft, and oh, so hungry; her head began to whirl. He pressed gently against her and she thought, well, that's never happened before -- no wrestling, and then she stopped thinking anything at all. She just gave up to the feeling, warm against cool, soft against hard, smooth against rough, pressing, sliding, pushing, pulling.   
  
Finally they parted with a gasp, but stood for a moment trembling and clinging to each other for support. Buffy burrowed her head against his still-silent chest; Spike felt her passionate heartbeat resonating through both their bodies.   
  
"Stay," Buffy said.   
  
"What, love?" he said softly into her hair.   
  
She lifted her face. "I want you to stay here. I don't want you going back to your crypt alone when you're not a hundred percent."   
  
"Well, love, I appreciate the offer," he began, pulling back slightly.  
  
"Don't be such a tough guy!" she insisted. "It could be dangerous. Who knows what side effects there could be from your -- your condition? You should be here where we -- where Giles can watch you."  
  
"I don't know what to say," Spike said. More than anything, that convinced her that he was at least temporarily weakened. He couldn't even think of a smart remark. She felt a frightening wave of tenderness, and resolutely tried to control it.   
  
She took his hand. "All this -- what you're doing - it's a strain. I want you to go upstairs and rest. And I mean rest," she said, looking him firmly in the eye. Big mistake; he was giving her that look again, from under his brows, his head tilted downward. She felt drowned in his eyes, and looked away hastily.   
  
"I forgot how bossy you are," he grumbled half-heartedly. "Vamp here, you know; self-sufficient," which just got him another look, less fervent this time. Buffy tugged on his hand, and he sighed histrionically and followed her up the stairs. This time they both leaned on the banister, however.   
  
She went into her bedroom first to close the curtains, and he lay down on her bed without protest, in fact gratefully. Spike looked up at her and it seemed as if he were in the midst of a familiar dream, a dream he'd had so many times, so far away from here, and cherished like a talisman. Though the dream had involved a bit more action, and never included being incapacitated by exhaustion -- or being observed by a stuffed pig with a rather critical expression.   
  
She took both his hands in hers, and sat on the edge of the bed, with a tentative smile. "When you were gone, I dreamed that we were here just like this -- okay, maybe not exactly like this," she said. "Even before you were gone, actually."  
  
"Yeah, me too," he said, his voice husky.  
  
"I wanted tell you how sorry I was that everything went wrong, if you ever came back," she said resolutely.  
  
"Buffy, love, no apologies. Not now. If anything, I -- "   
  
"No, I want to say it right out," she faltered, "because I lied to you before -- "  
  
"I know."  
  
"And I know you never lied to me about how you felt." She took a breath. "I know you're different. But I'm different, too. I'm trying not to lie anymore, even to myself," she smiled again, "and you don't know how hard that is! But whatever happens now -- I knew I loved you before you left, and I just couldn't -- " She stopped. She didn't want to cry. Men hated that. She just looked at him helplessly.  
  
"Buffy -- " He couldn't speak. Just looked at her, his face a kaleidoscope of feelings. Her hazel eyes were enormous and soft, her face taut with concern. They shared a long look, full of meaning -- I love you, I trust you, I believe in you. Buffy was afraid to breathe, afraid to accept what she saw there.   
  
"I missed you so much -- " she began, pressing his hand to her cheek. Then she stopped abruptly. He tried to draw his hand back, cursing himself silently, but she held him fast. "Spike? What did you do?" she said roughly.   
  
Resisting his efforts to pull them away, Buffy examined both his hands. They were scarred, on the palms and up the wrists under his shirtsleeves. Her face rigid, she opened his shirt and saw more scars crisscrossing his torso; slash marks, burn marks, even what looked like animal bite marks, or worse. Slowly she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his shoulder. "What did you do?" she whispered once more. My fault again, she thought. All my fault.   
  
He smoothed his hand up and down her back. "It'll all fade away in a couple weeks, love, and I'll be good as new. Better, really."  
  
"That's not what I meant and you know it," she said, unappeased.   
  
Spike had faced several unfamiliar dilemmas so far since acquiring a soul (or two), and he supposed this was one more. When he was hurt, and one way or another he had been hurt a great deal lately, he found comfort in imagining Buffy caring for him, binding his wounds, even weeping over them. But now, seeing his pain cause her pain, he wanted nothing more than to hide it. Things just didn't go the way he expected anymore. He sighed.  
  
Gently, he held her away from him to look into her face. "Buffy, love, it's nothing to go all tragic over. That's the way these things work. You've got to risk something -- give up something. I've had worse before and likely I will have again; it doesn't matter."   
  
"That's the way it works? Everyone I love has to suffer because of me?"  
  
"For my own reasons, love. I didn't ask you, did I? I decided what I wanted to do, and I did it. Not your responsibility."  
  
"You wanted to help me! You went through all this, just to help me!" she cried. "Can't anyone I love be happy, ever?"  
  
"Sweetheart." Stroking her hair, he searched for what to tell her; "I am happy," he said at last.  
  
Without another word, she curled up beside him on the bed and wrapped her arms around him, her heart aching with love and confusion.   
  
TBC  
  
------------------------------  
  
  
"O mistress mine! where are you roaming?  
O! stay and hear; your true love's coming,  
That can sing both high and low.  
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;  
Journeys end in lovers meeting,  
Every wise man's son doth know.  
  
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;  
Present mirth hath present laughter;  
What's to come is still unsure:  
In delay there lies no plenty;  
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,  
Youth's a stuff will not endure."  
  
Shakespeare, Twelfth Night 


	12. Close Bound Enough

---------------------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 12. Close Bound Enough   
  
Buffy went out to sit on the back porch. It was late afternoon. Spike slept solidly in her bed, and Willow was huddled upstairs, alone and silent. No one had the heart to rouse Xander and Anya from the couch, where they had dropped off, clinging together. Even Dawn, a teenager stuffed with sugar and caffeine, had, astonishingly, gone to her room for an extended nap. Only Giles forced himself to keep awake, working alone over reference books in the dining room. It had been a beautiful, sunny day, in any other circumstances an invitation to walks in the park and carefree shopping. Branches swayed gently in a warm spring breeze, and birds twittered around her mother's feeder. She felt her shoulders relax a little, at last.   
  
It was partly the sunshine that calmed her and partly the memory of Spike asleep in her arms. His head had felt deliciously heavy against her shoulder, and ever so softly, so as not to wake him, she had run her hands over his shoulders and back, just memorizing the feel of him once more. It was heaven. That strange little voice inside her was singing about love again, and now she just let it sing.   
  
After a while, Giles joined her on the steps, holding a mug of very strong, very sweet tea. He opened his mouth to speak, and then suddenly thought better of it. Why shouldn't she have a day or two to rest up, without being burdened with the ill-starred portents he had spent the afternoon tracking down?   
  
"Well! The last few days have been eventful, to say the least," he said instead. "How are you holding up? Tired?"  
  
"Tired, but good. Overwhelmed and confused, but good. I guess we won," she said, smiling at him.  
  
"Yes, we did." He hesitated, and decided not to say 'for now.'  
  
"Everything will be different now," Buffy said a little sadly. "Whatever happens. The way we were is just -- gone; when we put the pieces back together, we'll have something else. Once I would have thought that was awful. Once I just wanted things be like they used to be, but now I -- I can't wait,"   
  
"That could be called growing up, Buffy."  
  
"That's what they keep telling me," she said. She stretched, and they sat in companionable silence for a while. The soporific effects of sun, fresh air, and a metaphysical vitality drain were beginning to tell on them both. "Fighting people is way more tiring than fighting monsters," she complained eventually, stifling a yawn. "I can't even kill anything. There's no resolution. Just the promise of more trouble down the road."  
  
"True. It's the moral ambiguity, I expect. Very wearing on the nerves." He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Not to mention the mystical drain on your strength. The forces unleashed by the convergence of Willow's real power and Warren's artificially enhanced power literally sucked some of the energy out of our world. Not a lot -- we were able to stop it in time, or rather Spike was."  
  
"So everybody's got the post-almost-apocalypse snoozies? And Spike saved the world -- again?" Buffy chuckled. That was so weird. Especially since it sort of kept happening.   
  
"It looks like it, yes; he and his, ah, comrades. There's no telling what the result would have been if the energy drain had gone on. For one thing, we don't know where it went -- which is a bit ominous. Though perhaps Spike and I can look into that later." He didn't really want to tell her that he suspected the answer would not prove encouraging. It was so good to see her smile again, if only for a little while.   
  
"I've gotta say it's strange to hear you say that, Giles!" she laughed.  
  
"It's strange to hear myself say it. Though not as strange as you might think. I did know about the Thisavrizo, as an intriguing legend, not a reality. But the idea is not as outlandish as one would imagine." Giles became quite animated on the topic of his most recent research. "Quite frankly, the trials that must be overcome are so daunting that, as far as I know, the challenge has never even been taken up by a human." He didn't notice Buffy's wince at that. "However, it should have occurred to us that a vampire might succeed, because -- and I think this will surprise you -- Spike is not the first Watcher to be, um, a vampire."  
  
"What!?" Buffy exclaimed, "though may I pause and say I feel like I've been saying that an awful lot lately."  
  
"I know. It seems quite unthinkable. Obviously, it's happened very seldom. But it has happened."  
  
"Well, color me flabbergasted. Would those be all soul-y guys? You know like -- like Spike?" It still felt peculiar to say that. Spike. Soul. Lots of souls. She shook her head.   
  
"I'm actually not quite clear on that point. It seems that the Council of Watchers does not make every resource known to mere field troops who actually face vampires, like myself," he said with undisguised resentment. "However, some of the inhabitants of Spike's head -- so to speak -- literally wrote the books, so I now have access to a bit more information. Indeed, I have access to more than anyone else alive, I suspect. And I use the word 'alive' advisedly, of course."  
  
"'The Worm Turns, or, The Librarian's Revenge'!"  
  
"I must say, the thought of the expression on Quentin Travers' face has been cheering me quite considerably," said Giles happily. "Not that I think we should rush into informing the Council of what's happened, but still."  
  
He looked at her lovely face, her lips curved softly into a smile. "You look happy, Buffy." Despite the exhaustion, despite the desperate emotions of the last few weeks, she seemed almost serene. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd seen her look contented. Suddenly it occurred to him to wonder --  
  
Buffy looked away for a moment, and then met his eyes. "It's because Spike came home," she said simply.  
  
"I see." Giles said. Well, it wasn't surprising, was it? As knights in shining armor went, Spike was perhaps an unusual specimen -- especially since he wasn't exactly alive, and his armor was considerably dented, too -- but one could hardly deny that he had proved himself this time. However much one might wish to. "I take it you've found that you, ah, return his affections?"  
  
"Oh, Giles!" She ran her hands over her face and through her hair. "You don't know what I'm like at all. For the last few months, I was a monster."  
  
"That seems most unlikely," he said gently.  
  
"You don't know," Buffy said mournfully. "I can hardly believe it myself, the way I acted. And after all that, he wanted to help me!"  
  
"Buffy -- " Giles stared thoughtfully at the birdfeeder. He needed to be fair about this.   
  
Whatever his own personal feelings of protectiveness towards Buffy, and longstanding enmity towards Spike, he felt strongly that this whole situation was important, somehow. From the beginning, something about Spike's predicament -- first his enforced harmlessness, then his frankly insane love for the Slayer -- had felt oddly significant to Giles. He'd never been able to explain it to himself. Amongst his researches in Council archives was an investigation of whether even the hint of any other relationship between Slayer and vampire had ever been recorded, and what he had found astounded him. And his consultation with Spike earlier in the day (including, of course, information provided by Spike's new associates) had confirmed the truth of many things he would previously have found simply beyond belief.   
  
He said finally, "Whatever passed between you -- and I can't believe it was as bad as you imagine -- do try and remember that Spike owes his soul and his future to you. He would never have achieved what he has -- and it is a remarkable achievement -- if he hadn't loved you."  
  
"He does," she said bitterly, "but maybe he shouldn't. Giles, let me tell you something -- right now, it's a consolation to me that he's lying up there because somebody else tortured him this time, not me. What does that tell you about me?" She was afraid to look in his eyes, afraid to see the shock there. But she had to tell someone.  
  
Giles didn't sound shocked at all. He answered carefully, "It's very hard, I know, but it's also very necessary to know what one is capable of; indeed, to know that one is in fact capable of unforgivable acts. Because we all are, Buffy."  
  
"Aren't we supposed to be the good guys?"  
  
"That doesn't mean we can never do wrong. I certainly can't say I haven't. I've done terrible things, Buffy, and without even the consolation of having done them for the right reasons. Perhaps we need to face what's in us all. Perhaps it's a necessary step to forgive others."  
  
"I haven't been too good at that, either."  
  
"All of us know, now, that the darkness within us is very seductive. I do, Spike certainly does, Xander, Anya, and you know it; we can only hope this is something Willow has learned. But we don't have to remain mired in the past, either. We can't."   
  
"I don't know if I can make it up -- "  
  
"My dear girl, whatever happened, you've got a new start now. Indeed, Spike is the best example you could have. I always thought there was something in store for him; it hardly seemed that his otherwise rather pointless presence here in Sunnydale, and his fascination for you, could be merely an accident. But don't forget, his past doesn't bear thinking of. Who ever could have imagined what he would become?"  
  
" 'Evening, all," Spike said sleepily from the doorway behind them.   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"AND have we done with War at last?   
Well, we've been lucky devils both,   
And there's no need of pledge or oath   
To bind our lovely friendship fast,   
By firmer stuff  
Close bound enough."  
  
Robert Graves 


	13. Much Wondering

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.  
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.  
SITUATIONAL SPOILERS - VERY VAGUE, BUT STILL  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 13. Much Wondering  
  
  
Shadows were beginning to creep across the lawn when Spike awoke, comfortably sprawled on Buffy's bed. At first it was disorienting; it was the first time he'd slept in a bed in some time, though he wasn't exactly sure how long, and this one smelled distractingly of Buffy. As he woke more fully, he automatically checked himself for damage, a useful new habit he'd developed. At first he was rather surprised to find there was none. In fact, his only physical symptom right now was hunger.   
  
He had not felt this relaxed in what seemed like years. Or was it really months? He literally didn't know. Time had seemed slower or faster at different stages of his recent adventures. But rest hadn't figured prominently in them, in any case. What happened was now a blur of pain, fury, and utter determination -- when thought failed, when consciousness itself failed, he had clung fast to his resolve, and to the strength of his rage. He would not be broken down, shattered, remade, or forced into a mold by anyone or anything, succeed or fail. He kept his vital aim in view, but also fought to preserve himself as himself. Perhaps that obstinacy made his trials more strenuous; he knew he had to give up something, to truly risk, but selfhood was one thing he refused to give up.   
  
He was still trying to figure out how, specifically, he was different. He knew he must be different. He remembered the secret look of horror Angelus had worn when his soul was restored, the sick, disbelieving expression, as if he were being eaten up inside by something corrosive and shameful. Spike didn't feel anything like that. He wondered how his new friends were protecting him, and from what, exactly.   
  
But he had noticed a peculiar, dream-like feeling; now he was beginning to suspect that this in fact was his new reality. And that it was dream-like to him simply because it had been so terribly long since he had lived without the constant, nagging craving for violence -- except in his dreams. There had always been dreams of blood and fire and death, true; not exactly nightmares, either, to one of his kind. But there had also been painful, aching dreams of his life before he was changed, his mother, his sisters, his lost commonplace mortality in the sun; beautiful, impossible dreams of some kind of love and peace with Buffy; all evanescent as smoke, brief respites that dissolved on awakening. All unrecoverable when awareness returned, and his demon soul once more hummed with its endless hunger for violence.   
  
Not that he minded violence. In fact, he enjoyed it, even now. He was still part demon, after all -- in fact, technically he was even more of a demon, since a few vampire Watchers demonic souls were banded together with all the others now a part of him. (Right around this part of his analysis, Spike usually began to get a headache.) Of course, he was more of a -- well, more of a human, too. Sort of. But the yearning, the screaming, back of the head longing, wherever he was, whatever he did, day or night, alone or in company, that urged him to put his fist through walls and kick furniture to bits (at the very least) when even slightly thwarted -- that was gone. It left him with a strange lightness, a subconscious struggle no longer needed, a seemingly endless battle unexpectedly won. He was free.  
  
He let himself wallow for a snug moment in the memory of Buffy's caresses, the piercingly sweet feel of his arms around her, her ardent, demanding mouth, her slight, hot little body pressed to his, her new tenderness. It was like a gate had unlocked somewhere deep within her, and a river of love and generosity now flowed freely. When he fell asleep in her arms, he felt her fingers stroking his hair so gently, her small, strong heart beating steadily where his head rested on her breast.   
  
He hadn't anticipated this. He'd been willing to return to the Slayer's side as a companion and now a guide, and nothing more, or even to return anonymously, if that's what would truly help her. But she had greeted him with such passion it still made his chest ache to think about it, and his brain seize up with wonder.  
  
He stretched comfortably and sat up. The warm, creamy pastels of Buffy's bedroom made him feel embarrassingly sentimental; he tried automatically to suppress it, without success. Not that he ever could. He was the most sentimental git in the world now, he supposed. In any world. A living monument to sentimentality; well, all right, a non-living monument. All this for a slip of a girl -- a blazing, golden goddess of a girl, true, but a fallible, mortal woman nevertheless. But worth it. Oh, yes.   
  
He stood up and the stuffed pig seemed to catch his eye again. Somehow, it looked a lot friendlier now. He stretched out his hand to chuck it under the chin or something, and stopped himself just in time. God, he was turning into a poncing moron. He'd have to watch that. Instead, he ran his hands over his disordered hair, and headed downstairs. He needed to talk to Giles.  
  
Passing the Niblet's room, and Willow's, he checked briefly with his mind and found them both still sleeping. On the staircase he caught the sound of gentle snoring from the living room -- in two keys -- and saw Xander and Anya wrapped around each other on the sofa.   
  
Making his way to the kitchen, he heard Giles and Buffy talking through the screen door. "Who could have imagined what he would become?" Giles was saying.   
  
Spike stepped out onto the porch behind them. "'Evening, all," he said, "any chance of a spot of dinner?"  
  
Buffy turned, her face lighting up. Giles couldn't help being glad to see that, whatever the cause. She sprang to her feet and went to Spike, standing on tiptoe to kiss him like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I got everything you need," she said happily, going into the kitchen and starting to pull things out of cupboards.  
  
Spike looked after her for a moment with the most unguarded expression Giles had ever seen on his face; and Giles had to admit to himself that it was heart wrenching. Poor bastard, he thought. He remembered then that it was Spike, after all, but hadn't the heart to take his sympathy back.   
  
Spike caught his eye, and ducked his head for a moment. Then he said, "I didn't expect this, you know, Rupert. I had no idea she'd -- that she would still -- "  
  
"She'll always surprise you," Giles said quite kindly. "You should be used to that by now."  
  
With this unlooked-for encouragement, Spike sat next to him on the step. In a low voice, he asked Giles, "So did you tell her?"  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"That day I oft remember, when from sleep  
I first awaked, and found myself reposed,  
Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where  
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how."  
  
Milton, Paradise Lost 


	14. Unthought Of

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
VERY SLIGHT SITUATIONAL SPOILERS  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 14. Unthought Of  
  
  
Spike said, "So did you tell her?"  
  
"No," Giles said. "I think we can give her some time to relax, don't you? She's had so much pressure on her lately, even before the recent disasters -- financial, family, school -- "  
  
Spike suddenly slapped his own forehead. "Financial! I am a bloody twit!" he said vehemently. "Rupert, listen -- Article 127, clause 12."  
  
Giles eyes widened. "Surely -- surely you, you, you must be joking," he stammered.   
  
"Not a bit of it."  
  
"I've been researching that for months!" Giles exclaimed. "Are you sure?"  
  
"I've got everything; numbers, dates, everything. If we survive the next couple of weeks, everything's rosy."  
  
Giles stared at him incredulously for a moment, and then did something no one could remember ever seeing him do. He burst out laughing.   
  
Buffy stood in the doorway, puzzled. It was good to see them getting along, and she frankly had expected a bit more trouble in that area. But this was a little unusual. "Hey, guys, what's so funny?" she said.  
  
Spike looked at Giles. "You want to tell her, or shall I?"  
  
Giles took his glasses off and waved them, rubbing his eyelids and chuckling. "No, no, you go ahead."  
  
Spike moved down to the bottom step. "Come and sit down, love," he said.  
  
"Okay, now you're scaring me," Buffy said, complying. "What gives?"  
  
"I'm just gonna tell you straight out, love. You've got money."  
  
"What do you mean, I've got money?" she said. She sat with her back straight, looking from one to the other. "I have no money. I'm broke. I'm money-less. I'm without funds."  
  
"No. You aren't. You've got a numbered Swiss bank account, and now that you've turned twenty-one, you can access it any time you like."  
  
"I don't understand -- "  
  
Giles said, "Buffy, I've been looking into this for some time, but I didn't want to say anything until certain obstacles had been overcome. Which, apparently, they have been. You and I were both supposed to receive a stipend from the Council, all along; usually a Slayer is more dependent on her Watcher. But because of your unusual circumstances, you had your mother, and a relatively normal life."  
  
"Like Kendra lived with Mr. Zabuto?"  
  
"Exactly. But the money was still due to you. I should have been paid to support you, and money should also have been disbursed to you directly for living expenses when you reached eighteen."  
  
"Except the bleeding Council of Wankers were a bit miffed with you both at that point."  
  
"So neither one of us got our money -- "  
  
"But the stupid berks paid it out all the same. Just didn't tell you about it. Got to keep the books balanced. They knew all about you working in that sodding meat palace, don't think they didn't, the scuzzy weasels."  
  
"So there's money sitting in a bank somewhere? How does that help?"  
  
"Because the account is in the name of Buffy Anne Summers -- that's you," Spike said patiently. "And I've got the account number and password. All you need is your birth certificate or something, and you can swan along to your local bank Monday morning and start making withdrawals. And there's sod all anyone can do about it, because you're you, love, and it rightfully belongs to you."   
  
"Yes -- not a very edifying performance by the Council, I must say."  
  
Buffy clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle a shriek. "Oh, my god," she said. "Oh, my god, oh, my god."   
  
Giles and Spike just sat and watched her happiness blossom. It was their job, after all. Her eyes grew brighter and brighter, as if she were mentally reviewing formerly intractable problems and seeing them fall like dominoes.   
  
After a few minutes of enjoying her ecstatic bouncing and inarticulate exclamations, Spike reluctantly said, "There is one more thing, love - "  
  
But Giles interrupted him, with a warning look. "Why don't we have a meeting over dinner? There are a few, ah, future events we should all talk over together." After a moment, Spike acquiesced in this. Let her be happy.  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"What temper at the prospect did not wake  
To happiness unthought of? The inert   
Were roused, and lively natures rapt away!"  
  
William Wordsworth 


	15. All the Dancing Moments

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
SITUATIONAL SPOILERS - NOT MUCH  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Pt. 15 All the Dancing Moments   
  
  
In the end, Giles was voted most competent to handle the cooking, and they had a Scooby meeting of sorts over a simple but pleasant meal. Buffy had taken a peanut butter sandwich and glass of milk to Willow's room earlier, without response, but Spike assured her Willow was okay, and she trusted his judgement. She didn't ask how he knew. She roused the others; Xander and Anya clung together, subdued and oddly uncertain. Xander avoided even looking at Spike, who paid no particular attention to him. Meanwhile, Giles quite handily prepared omelets, and with salad, crusty bread, and an actual bottle of wine, which he and Dawn had picked up earlier. Even after sleeping all day, everyone suddenly discovered quite an appetite. Spike had a bowl of blood warmed in the microwave, with burba weed and Wheetabix crumbled in it, which he enjoyed very much and everyone else tried their best not to look at. Or even towards.   
  
At last they were all together at the table, a Scooby reunion -- except Willow and Tara. There was some sadness as each one glanced towards the place where Tara used to sit, but somehow they all sensed that they didn't have much time for mourning. They knew they had to get on with the job.  
  
"So we're like independently wealthy now?" Dawn said, after a suitable interval for group munching. Visions of home entertainment systems and many, many clothes danced in her head.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't say that, but let's say we won't actually be homeless, hungry, or unclothed," Buffy said, having secured some reassuring details from Spike.  
  
"You should plan some investments, Buffy, so your funds will work for you," Anya said seriously.  
  
"Ahn, I don't think now is the time -- "  
  
"No, she's right," Spike interrupted, astounding everyone. They waited breathlessly for him to start speaking with an accent of some kind. "If you set it up right, you can keep the bread rolling in forever," he went on, unheeding. At the sudden silence, he looked up. "What?" he said testily. "I can't have a sensible idea?"  
  
"I guess the novelty hasn't worn off yet," Buffy admitted, squeezing his hand under the table.  
  
"I gotta say, Giles, this doesn't reflect well on your former cohorts," Xander said, oblivious to this by-play.   
  
"Yes, well, it's not as though I ever got on with them that well; I was fired, you might recall -- "  
  
"It's a little known fact," Spike interrupted rather acidly, "that Watchers haven't always been such tweedy bleeding wankers as this lot now are."  
  
"Excuse me?" Giles said, affronted.  
  
"Present company excepted. Anyway, you're an ex-Watcher, aren't you? Hell, you're not even tweedy anymore. But all that 'please pass the port' and buried-in-the-library lifestyle is all recent stuff. A lot of 'em from earlier times are quite decent blokes."  
  
"Well, things have gotten more codified -- "  
  
"They've gotten moss-covered, you mean. In the old days," Spike said loftily, "there were some right warriors taking the field. Swordsmen, samurai, adventurers. Guys who'd be some use in a fight. Hell, Rupert, your Gran was no shrinking violet."  
  
"No, she wasn't, was she?" Giles eyes lit up reminiscently. "But how did you -- ? You don't mean -- ?" he said, almost incredulous. At a nearly imperceptible nod from Spike, he said, "Good lord."  
  
"Beheaded a Vor demon at the age of sixteen, and on Christmas morning, too," Spike pursued.  
  
"Yes, indeed, it was a favorite family story for years," Giles said. "The pudding was quite ruined." No one knew quite what to say to this unusual glimpse of Giles family lore.   
  
"Is Spike going to turn into Giles' grandmother now? Because I so don't want to see that," Xander said.  
  
"I do!" Dawn said with a mischievous grin.  
  
"Hey, we don't do these things for fun," Spike said piously. "Only when it's strictly necessary. It's not a game, people."  
  
Giles set down his glass. It seemed like an appropriate time to raise another subject. "Yes, well," he said more seriously, "We're going to need all our skills, including Spike's new ones, in the coming days."  
  
"Let me guess -- a very dark power is about to rise over Sunnydale?" Buffy said.  
  
"Well, ah, yes."  
  
"I knew it!" Xander said. "Just when it looks like things have settled down. Tell me, why do we live here again?"  
  
"To fight evil, honey," Anya said kindly, taking his hand.  
  
"Oh, yeah; I forgot. Well, I guess that job never gets old."  
  
"As you all know," Giles began pedantically, "Sunnydale and everyone in it, including us, has been subject to an energy drain, caused by the confluence of Willow's and Warren's magical energies. I have been looking into the question of where the energy went, and I'm afraid the answer is not encouraging."  
  
"Where did it go? Where could it go?"   
  
"To the Other Side," Spike said.  
  
"Precisely. Warren opened a channel through the Hellmouth to funnel power out for his own purposes. Unfortunately, he was not as expert as he believed himself to be, and the reverse happened. He drained power from this world, from us, and sent it to the Other Side of the barrier between the hell dimension and this one."  
  
"Which means all the nasties who've been trying to get through all these years now have a nice power boost," Spike said helpfully.  
  
"Yes, exactly. Whatever spells and magical energies have been directed to breaking through from the Other Side are now that much stronger. And therefore I think we can expect some of them to succeed."  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"WHEN you were there, and you, and you,  
Happiness crowned the night; I too,  
Laughing and looking, one of all,  
I watched the quivering lamplight fall  
On plate and flowers and pouring tea  
And cup and cloth; and they and we  
Flung all the dancing moments by  
With jest and glitter. Lip and eye  
Flashed on the glory, shone and cried,  
Improvident, unmemoried;  
And fitfully and like a flame  
The light of laughter went and came.  
Proud in their careless transience moved  
The changing faces that I loved."  
  
Rupert Brooke  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
NOTE: For those who have asked, Theurgy is: The performance of miracles with supernatural assistance, or magic performed with the aid of beneficent spirits. See, Giles doesn't know everything! 


	16. Things Which Are Not

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.  
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.  
SITUATIONAL SPOILERS - NOT MUCH  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 16. Things Which Are Not  
  
  
Their faces grew sober in the warm light of the dining room as the implications of Giles' analysis sank in. For a while they'd tried to forget that the fight was truly never over. In silence, Buffy brought coffee and cups, and Dawn helped clear away the dishes. Giles sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, holding his glasses in one hand. He was the only one who hadn't managed to snatch any rest, and he knew his stamina was giving out. He looked around the table morosely. These exhausted children were all that stood between humanity and chaos -- again. Their drawn faces belied their youth; indeed, they looked almost as old as he felt. Even Spike. The weight of many battles was beginning to tell on them all.  
  
Buffy looked almost fragile, with enormous eyes; Dawn's face was solemn and shadowed. Anya had the experience of a thousand-year-old demon, but the form of an ordinary, and at this point exceedingly weary, young woman. Xander was how old? Twenty-one? And he was beginning to look and behave like a bitter middle-aged man, a far cry from the coltish but brave and reliable ally he once had been. And these were the good guys, Giles thought desolately. The Powers that Be, the forces of righteousness, whom he served, had laid this burden on these once-innocent children, with so little might to tilt the balance in their favor.   
  
Until now, perhaps. He considered Spike, and suddenly thought he was beginning to understand what he'd seen unfolding these past few years a little better. He wondered if any of them truly realized what a weapon they now had at hand. An animated weapon, with a will of its own, possessing unimaginable stores of knowledge; incredibly powerful, vastly experienced, utterly vicious -- and utterly loyal. And at once Giles saw the wisdom of merely adding souls without subtracting anything from Spike as he was, leaving him his demon, and even augmenting it -- because the demons' rage for battle would doubtless prove invaluable. He also saw the cold logic behind the plan; the conscious weapon could never be subverted away from his purpose. His fidelity was ensured by his immutable love for the Slayer. The strategy was heartless, but might prove frighteningly effective. Giles found himself perking up somewhat. Perhaps the odds weren't so long.  
  
They all sat lost in thought for a while. "So something's going down soon, yes?" Xander said finally.  
  
"I fear so." Giles replied. "It's a question of figuring out when, exactly."  
  
"This sort of thing, only two ways it can go -- dark of the moon, or new moon. Either way, it's soon," Spike added.  
  
"Exactly so. It's at the quarter now, and the moon is waning, so we have about three days, if I calculate correctly."  
  
"So how can we prepare?" Buffy said.  
  
Giles sat back in his chair. "As I see it, our best hope -- our only hope, I'm afraid -- is to prevent the Hellmouth from opening at all. In other words, be there at the right time and counteract the, ah, forces on the other side trying to break through."  
  
"Well, we can bang it shut again if it just cracks a bit, but if that happens we'll also have to keep things from coming out," Spike said.  
  
"'Things'?" said Xander.  
  
"Hell beasts. Armies of darkness. You know, the usual drill. Save humanity, blood, death and destruction, yadda, yadda."  
  
"Well, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" said Xander, sudden hostility flaring. He couldn't help it. Spike was sitting at the family dining table just like one of the Scoobies, cozily established between Buffy and Dawn, for all the world like he was the man of the house. Both girls sat turned a little bit towards him, like they cared more about what he had to say than anyone else. Maybe they thought Xander didn't notice, but he did. The three of them traded smiles and familiar glances; it grated on Xander's nerves more and more. He wasn't a man at all, damn it. He might think he was some kind of super-Spike now, but he looked just like the old chip-addled, sex-obsessed blood-drinker. Xander wanted him gone.   
  
"That's right, I would," Spike replied coolly to his rhetorical question, refusing to be provoked. "We're going to need all the forces we can muster. 'Cause when they do come out, they come out hungry, and they've usually got great big pointy teeth."  
  
At that Buffy looked at him sharply, but simply asked, "Can I fight them?"  
He turned to her. "Sure, we can fight them, love, but it would be a whole lot better to keep them from emerging at all."  
  
"And here's our dilemma," Giles said. "Because we'll need magic, we'll need magic users. And right now, we don't have enough. We'll need to be positioned to cover the entire area, to strengthen the barrier where it's weakest, and Spike and I can only cover so much ground, so to speak."  
  
"So, what, you need five? Like a pentagram? Can I do it?" Xander said instantly.  
  
"Actually, I believe we could do it with four, if we have experienced magic users who can successfully channel a great deal of power. But that lets you out, Xander; I know you're familiar with rituals and so on, but this is a bit different. The energy would literally be flowing through your body, and it needs to be guided. Any mistakes would incinerate not only you, but several city blocks."  
  
"Well, when you put it that way, I'd rather not be incinerated. I hate the smell of burning hair."  
  
"No," Anya chimed in, "please, no incinerating. I prefer you whole."  
  
"Thanks, hon."  
  
"Anyway, we need you to back up Buffy, preferably with weapons, since Spike will be busy with, ah, sorcery," Giles continued. "Even if hell-creatures don't emerge, our everyday, garden-variety Sunnydale demons will probably be attracted to the scene by the dark energies that have been unloosed, which will complicate our task somewhat."  
  
Anya raised her hand tentatively, and said simply, "I can do it. The power thing."  
  
"No, Ahn! It's too dangerous!"  
  
"I want to. It's something I know how to do."  
  
"I thought you were giving all that up -- "  
  
"We're talking about saving the world, Xander. Again. It's what we do. And I have to do what I can, just like everyone else." She said to Spike, "I have the experience. But I don't have any power anymore."  
  
"I'll give it to you. Don't worry. You can do it."   
  
For some reason, Anya grasped the depth of Spike's newly-given abilities more readily than any of them, and accepted them completely. She said, with complete confidence in her beautiful eyes, "Just tell me what to do."  
  
This was too much for Xander. "Look, I don't want you doing this with him, I don't trust him, I don't want him involved in this. I don't even want him around. Nothing's changed, as far as I'm concerned," he said hotly.  
  
Spike looked at him, still and flat-eyed as a coiled snake. Buffy gripped his wrist under the table. "Not exactly up to you, is it?" he said icily. "Not your call, that I can see."  
  
"No, it bloody well isn't," Giles said with authority. "And if I may say so, Xander, this is hardly the time for tantrums. We've all been through an emotional strain, but this is more important than our individual feelings, whatever they might be. Quite frankly, Spike is our only chance. We can settle our personal differences later -- if we survive to do so. Is that clear?"  
  
Spike, elaborately casual, lit a cigarette and said nothing. Dawn wordlessly rose and fetched him an ashtray in a delicate gesture of solidarity, and he flashed her a smile. He could sense Buffy's silent approval, too, at his refusal to be drawn. It felt good -- better than good -- to have his girls around him like this, backing him up, taking his side. It was something he hadn't experienced for a long, long time.   
  
Xander sat tensely for a moment then raised both hands in front of him, palms out. "Okay, whatever," he said ungraciously.  
  
Giles continued. "We still need one more adept, and, frankly, with Willow out of commission, I don't know where we'll find one."  
  
"So Willow's definitely out of commission?" Xander asked.  
  
"Yes!" "Yes!" "Yes!" Giles, Spike, and Buffy said together.  
  
"Okay, okay, I was just asking."  
  
"I have a suggestion. We know one more magic user who isn't evil," Buffy said. "Jonathan."  
  
There was an outcry at this from Xander, Dawn, and Anya; Giles looked skeptical. "Really, Buffy, I don't see how we can trust someone who's already betrayed you once -- "  
  
"He helped us in the end," Buffy insisted. "He took a risk for us." She met Spike's eyes for an extended moment. "And he deserves a chance -- a chance to redeem himself." Spike leaned towards her and took both her hands in his, and the protestations of the others faded away as they exchanged a long, tender look. She loved to see his face like that, emotions unfettered, trusting in her. "The chance we gave each other," Buffy whispered to him. He kissed her palms, one after the other.  
  
At length they noticed that all discussion had died out, and the others around the table were staring at them with varying expressions, from Dawn's eager interest to Xander's revulsion. Giles' face was enigmatic. Spike recovered himself and nodded once. "Okay, I'm in," he said. "Jonathan it is."  
  
"Buffy, do you really think that's wise?" Giles said. "He threw in his lot with Warren in the first place."  
  
"He didn't know what he was getting into. He didn't know how bad it could be -- he didn't know how bad HE could be. I think he should get an opportunity to come back from that," Buffy said gravely. "We all need a second chance, Giles, don't we?"  
  
They heard a shaky voice from the doorway. "Can I help?" Willow said.  
  
TBC  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Study me then, you who shall lovers be  
At the next world, that is, at the next spring:  
For I am every dead thing,  
In whom love wrought new alchemy.  
For his art did express  
A quintessence even from nothingness,  
From dull privations, and lean emptiness:  
He ruined me, and I am re-begot  
Of absence, darkness, death: things which are not."  
  
John Donne 


	17. All Several Sins

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SEASON 6 END SPOILERS  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part. 17 All Several Sins   
  
  
Xander was the first one to recover himself. "How are you, Will?" he said gently. "Wanna sit?"  
  
"Yeah, I do," she said, in a faint voice. She had changed into jeans and a plain sweatshirt, and looked almost like the girl they knew again. But her face and bearing were stamped with the experience of horror, loss, and an incredulous self-loathing that made them want to look away. Her face was as white as Spike's, her eyes dull and apprehensive.   
  
"Um, Will, want some coffee?" Buffy said, taking her cue from Xander. Try and act normally, that was the ticket. This was Willow. She poured coffee and passed it down the table.  
  
"I'll never say no to the caffeine." She sat heavily, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head in her hands for a moment. Then she looked up and faced them.   
  
Giles cleared his throat. "How are you feeling, Willow?"   
  
"I guess I'm good," she replied, with a weak attempt at normality. "Really, really tired, though."  
  
"Everybody's got an energy drain," Dawn began brightly, "caused by, uh - "  
  
"Caused by me?" Willow said.  
  
"Uh, yeah."   
  
There was an uneasy silence. Xander looked at her and tried to see the same Willow with whom he'd shared a bed when they wore footie pajamas. Yet she had threatened him, and everyone in the room, with dire suffering and death if they interfered with her revenge. He never would have believed she could do such a thing, and for such a sick, paltry reason; she was the one he thought he could trust beyond anyone else in the world, even Buffy -- or Anya. And yet he didn't know himself, either, did he? Could they trust him? Would he ever have believed he would desert his sincere, loving bride at the altar exposed to the pity and scorn of their so-carefully chosen guests? He would have said a guy who did that was a self-centered jerk -- before he became that guy. He didn't understand himself, or her, or the world, anymore.   
  
"I helped you, too," Anya told Willow kindly, "so I am also to blame. Though it wasn't my idea."   
  
Xander took her hand, his fingers threading through hers. She was doing her best to help; she was brave, and loyal, and earnest, and he loved her. That was one thing he was sure of.   
  
"Yes, well, we were discussing an additional problem that's arisen due to the, ah, unfortunate events of the last few days," Giles said. "Things that will need, ah, coping with."  
  
She looked into the depths of her cup. Shame was a crushing weight on the back of her neck, pushing her head down. "I remember now," she said. "I know what I did -- what I tried to do." She looked at Spike, who seemed perfectly at home sitting between Dawn and Buffy, openly holding Buffy's hand right in front of Xander and Giles. That was odd -- and unsettling. "I know what happened. I know you stopped me. I just don't know how."  
  
Giles caught Spike's eye, and at his nod, said, "Well, certain things have transpired that you don't know about. Spike has -- has changed."  
  
"Just give her the short version, Rupes."  
  
Something flashed briefly in Willow's eyes. "Why don't you tell me yourself?" There was a ghost of hostility in her tone.   
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,  
And every tongue brings in a several tale,  
And every tale condemns me for a villain.  
Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree:  
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree;  
All several sins, all used in each degree,  
Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty! guilty!'  
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;  
And if I die, no soul will pity me:  
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself  
Find in myself no pity to myself?"  
  
Shakespeare, Richard III 


	18. Recalled to Life

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
DEFINITE SPOILERS  
-------------------------------------------  
  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part. 18 Recalled to Life  
  
  
"Why don't you tell me yourself?" There was hostility and a slight challenge in Willow's tone.   
  
Spike looked at her for a moment, and deliberately ground out his cigarette. Then he suddenly shifted, his posture straightening, his expression smoothing to one of impassive regard. A glisten of blue-white light seemed to pass over him, gleaming off his hair and cheekbones, and highlighting the folds of his black shirt.   
  
"We are the Watchers," he said. Giles and Buffy recognized the feathery echoes of multitudes in his voice, and managed to maintain their composure, but the others were electrified.   
  
Seeing Spike change before her eyes, Dawn shrank away at first, but after a reassuring look from Buffy held her ground. Xander sat bolt upright in his chair, Anya clinging tightly to his hand.   
  
In fact, Buffy had to strive to control herself. This process, whatever it was, bluntly terrified her, for purely personal reasons; a lover's reasons. She wanted whomever these people, or creatures, or personalities, or whatever they were, gone. She wanted Spike back as he was, and never to lose him again, even for the brief minutes these manifestations had taken so far. What if something went wrong? What if he couldn't get back? What if, someday, they wouldn't let him come back? What if it were hurting him, or damaging him in some way they didn't understand yet? Yet she knew she couldn't have what she wanted, that it must be done, and done right now. She had to trust his judgement about that from now on. It went against the grain, but she'd do it. So she held her peace.   
  
The Watchers continued. "For millennia, we have been preparing for a suitable vessel to return to this world. Spike is that vessel. We have come to aid the Slayer in the strife that is to come. That is," he smiled grimly, "the short version."   
  
Willow looked at him nervously across the table. It was obviously not a trick. It was Spike, and not Spike. It was Spike with power and insight she had never dreamed of, and wished she didn't know about now. And possessing the authority to judge, and punish, supported by thousands of years of wisdom and experience. She knew she was in trouble. She knew she had disregarded ageless limits; only she and Giles -- and now Spike -- knew what boundaries she had crossed, what dark contracts she had made, and broken. "What -- what can you do?" she stammered.  
  
"Almost anything," he replied, without irony. "Ask, rather, what can we not do. But power is not a toy. It is a weapon, to be wielded only when necessary. We will do what is necessary."  
  
"What did you do -- to me? My power is -- "  
  
" -- is gone."  
  
"Will I ever get it back?"  
  
"Will you ever be deserving of it?"  
  
She looked down into her coffee again. "I don't know," she said.  
  
"Ask when you are."  
  
Willow slumped miserably. No one knew what to say; it probably wasn't fun getting a supernatural scolding in front of them all, but they couldn't say she didn't deserve it, either. Her friends' faces around the table reflected certain realities; they all still loved her, or wanted to love her if they could, but they also feared her. Losing her power might diminish and pain her, but it eased their fear. And one question still hung over everything -- how could they ever trust her again? Once she had been the backbone of the Scoobies, the reliable one. She had grown to hate the ordinariness of that role, the un-glamour of it all. Now what wouldn't she give to get it back? Who could she be now?   
  
Apparently the Watchers had said all they came to say. The white light around Spike shimmered out with a faint whoosh; he shuddered and sat back in his chair, rubbing the back of his head. Buffy again openly clasped his hand between both of hers, and in return got another one of those looks that made her feel her blood rushing through her veins, strong and alive. And suddenly rather warm. "Got any of that whisky left, Rupes?" he asked plaintively, dragging his eyes away from hers. "The gang are still a bit rough with the entrances and exits."   
  
"As a matter of fact, I do." There were still matters to be decided, Giles supposed, but he really didn't think he could take anymore this evening. They still had some time. "An excellent suggestion."  
  
"I'd like to second that; whiskey's looking better and better all the time." Xander turned to Spike. "'The gang?'" he said.   
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - --   
  
'"Buried how long?"   
  
The answer was always the same: "Almost eighteen years."   
  
"You had abandoned all hope of being dug out?"   
  
"Long ago."   
  
"You know that you are recalled to life?"   
  
"They tell me so."   
  
"I hope you care to live?"   
  
"I can't say."'  
  
Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities 


	19. No One Left to Live With

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
SPOILERS - CHARACTER RELATED  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part. 19 No One Left to Live With  
  
  
None of the girls liked manly single-malts, so Giles poured fortifying shots of high-quality whiskey for Xander, Spike, and himself, and they sat around the table drinking like gentlemen while the women cleared away the dishes. The guys all knew they'd pay for it later, but what the hell. Preternatural exhaustion was beginning to weigh on everyone again, and it made them reckless.  
  
Xander fidgeted, swirling the stinging peat-scented liquid around in his glass, and stealing glances at Spike, trying not to goggle. Right now Spike just looked like the same old evil-undead Spike to him. No glow-y effects, no haughty other voices laying down the law. In fact, he looked drawn, which Xander didn't remember ever seeing before, and the hand on his glass was trembling slightly. Xander actually felt a pang of sympathy for him, which made him angry with himself. Dammit, it was still Spike. How changed could he be? Well, that was the question, wasn't it?  
  
"So when your -- your Gang said you can do anything, did you -- they -- mean literally anything?" he said finally.  
  
Spike cast him a measuring look. "Pretty much."  
  
"Like, oh, say, turn people into newts, or something? If you wanted?" Xander went on casually.  
  
"Probably could. Not worth the bother, though. Then you're stuck with a newt running around."  
  
"So why don't you? I mean, not the newts, but you know, make a vintage Aston Martin appear in the driveway, or a perfect rose, or magically fix the plumbing, or something?"  
  
"You lot just don't get it, do you?" Spike said, exasperated. He lit another cigarette, and streams of smoke wreathed his head. "That's it, you know. That's why they picked me and not some dim, lazy human-type git to do this."  
  
"I'm sorry; why did they, again?" Giles said curiously. One of the many questions revolving in his mind was why, exactly, Spike, of all the creatures in this world, had been entrusted with these fantastic capabilities. He didn't see how his devotion to Buffy, valuable as it doubtless was, fitted him to essentially hold the power of life and death over humans and non-humans alike, soul or no soul; and it was hard to imagine any occult trial that would demonstrate such fitness.  
  
Spike sighed. "Because I don't believe in it, that's why. That's the point. Never have. It's too dangerous. They gave me the chance, you know, to get out of various -- situations -- by using a bit of hey! presto. But I wouldn't do it. I can fight a dragon, all right, but I'm not making mystery deals with unseen thingies," he continued, answering one of Giles' questions, at least. "When you use magic, you're asking beings, forces, gods, spirits, whatever, to do you a favor. Well, why the bloody hell should they? What're they going to get out of it? What'll they want in return? Some little nature spirit isn't going to wash your clothes or change the channel on your TV just because it likes you. It's gonna want something. Probably something you're not gonna want to give."  
  
Xander was hung up on one item. "Whoa -- wait a minute. A dragon? And you won?"  
  
"Well, yeah. I'm here." Spike breathed smoke out through his nostrils rather ostentatiously, but irritatingly failed to elaborate.  
  
"So you believe the use of magic is a last resort?" Giles interposed, sticking to the point.  
  
"It's the biggest of big guns. It stays in reserve. Anything we can do on our own, that's how we do it. Nobody said this gig was supposed to be easy."  
  
"I guess that's the mistake Willow made," Xander said, looking into his drink. He remembered how proud she had been of her 'fiat lux' spell. But she probably should have just used a flashlight.   
  
"In a nutshell," Spike said.   
  
Shortly afterward, the party broke up. In the hallway, Willow found a moment to speak to Buffy alone. "Buffy, do you want me to leave?" she said flatly. "I'll understand if you do -- I can't imagine why you wouldn't."  
  
Buffy had thought about this. She held both her friend's hands. "You'd be all alone, Will; I know your folks are away. I think you should stay here." She didn't say 'for now.' She wasn't sure if that's what she meant. But she couldn't let Willow go off into the night alone right now; she had a feeling that might mean losing her forever and she just couldn't face that.  
  
Willow hung her head, her self-control finally cracking. "Buffy, you can't mean to forgive me," she said, tears running down her face. "You can't."  
  
"I do mean to," Buffy said firmly. "I really do."   
  
Xander came up and put his arm around Willow's shoulders. She looked up at him, distressed more by his affection than she would have been by his anger. "Xand, I was going to kill you," she whispered desperately. "I meant it."  
  
"But you didn't," he said. "Maybe you wouldn't really have done it. Anyway, I hurt you a lot when I was a hyena. And hey, Buffy tried to kill everybody a couple of months ago." Except Spike, he suddenly remembered.  
  
"Xander!" Buffy protested.  
  
"All I'm saying is, we've all got some history here."  
  
"I don't deserve this," Willow said, wiping her face with her hand. "I don't deserve to be forgiven."  
  
"Maybe none of us do," Xander said, looking across the room at Anya; "maybe that's why we should forgive other people."   
  
The three of them leaned against each other for a moment, sharing sadness and loss together. Perhaps they could go on from here, after all. After all their years of relying on each other, trusting each other, and fighting side by side, perhaps they could come through even this. It was something to hope for, anyway. Then the moment ended. Willow crept back upstairs to sleep, and Xander and Anya decided to go home to their apartment, and return the next day for another strategy meeting. Dawn was torn between yawns and a determination not to go to bed at nine o'clock on a Saturday. She sprawled on the sofa and turned on the television. Giles, beyond thought at this point, joined her, also yawning.  
  
Buffy drew Spike into the hall by the stairway, and wrapped herself around him for a hungry kiss, which he returned with interest. "I thought they'd never leave," she breathed, nestling her head against his shoulder. She looked into his eyes, and said simply, "Come to bed."   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"Mean laughter went about the town that day  
To let him know we weren't the least imposed on,  
And he could wait--we'd see to him to-morrow.  
But the first thing next morning we reflected  
If one by one we counted people out  
For the least sin, it wouldn't take us long  
To get so we had no one left to live with.  
For to be social is to be forgiving."  
  
Robert Frost 


	20. Fleeting Pleasures

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13 -- Nothing you couldn't see on the show  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
ACTUALLY NO SPOILERS THIS TIME  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
RETURN Part. 20 Fleeting Pleasures  
  
  
They stumbled up the stairs, clutching each other, made clumsy as much by longing as by weariness, stopping more than once to kiss again desperately, arms grasping with rib-cracking force. Finally they made it to Buffy's bedroom, and threw themselves against the inside of the door, slamming it shut.   
  
"Buffy, love, it's been such a long time," Spike panted, "this might be a bit quick."  
  
"It'll be quicker than you think if you don't hurry up," Buffy said fiercely.   
  
Then clothes fell to the floor; first a shirt, then a scorching kiss, then shoes, then another kiss, then buckles and zippers, then jeans, then arms and legs locked around each other and onto the bed at last. Then no words but formless, fervent sounds, and an eager, unthinking surrender to the rhythm until its soaring peak. Then the weightless plunge to earth again.  
  
Buffy's gripped his shoulders with all her strength, her heart slamming against her ribcage until she felt like it could break right through. "Well, that was -- whirlwind like," she gasped.   
  
"No frills, but plenty of enthusiasm," he agreed against her collarbone. He raised himself to his elbows and kissed the side of her neck, and made as if to roll away.   
  
"No!" she said, wrapping her legs around him. At his inquiring glance, she whispered, "No, stay. I like it like this."  
  
"I'd stay here for eternity, love," he said, looking at her with wonder. In all the times they had been together, she'd never wanted to stay close, or allowed herself to linger afterwards. He'd quickly learned not to even try to draw her nearer or put his arms around her; the memory of her jerking away dismissively the few times he'd tried still stung. But now instead of pulling away she melted against him.  
  
For a while they lay joined together, legs entwined, hands toying with each other's hair. Slowly Spike kissed and nuzzled his way across her jawline from one side to the other, as she looked at him with languid, half-closed eyes, twirling bits of hair up the back of his head with her fingertips, leaving little trails of heightened sensitivity. He could feel her heart still pounding against him, hear the breath in her lungs and the blood rushing through her veins. Her strong, soft, hot little body was welcoming and responsive beneath him; her skin tasted salty and sweet and was smooth to his tongue. He felt his stomach and chest muscles begin to harden, as well as --  
  
"Oooooh," Buffy said.   
  
  
Later -- rather a long time later -- Buffy sat up a little dizzily, as the blood that had been busy elsewhere returned -- reluctantly -- to her brain. She sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and simply looked at Spike, asleep. He was so beautiful. Whatever could she have been thinking, not to see that before? Why didn't anyone tell her? Were they all blind?   
  
And somehow she had always associated him with darkness, though he was in fact so brilliantly fair. Sometimes it would overwhelm her, seeing his ever-reactive face reflect each feather-light touch, each taste, each grasp of her hands, each push of her limbs, and she'd retreat into darkness by shutting her eyes; maybe that explained it. It wasn't the beauty but the love that blinded her, the urgent glow of those rich and unguarded blue eyes. Now when she looked at him his pearl-white skin, his platinum hair, his eyes seemed to gleam with irresistibly attractive light. She didn't see how it could be simply his new-found soul; she'd never noticed that effect on anyone else with a soul. It was just Spike himself; his body glowed and sung to her all the time now.   
  
He stretched a little and turned towards her side of the bed and, not finding her there, opened his eyes. She moved towards him so she was sitting about even with his hips, eyeing him with speculation.   
  
"Going somewhere?" he said lazily.  
  
"Uh-uh," she said, looking thoughtful. "And neither are you." His hands reached for her and she intercepted them, pinning them against the pillow on either side of his head. "Hold still," she said. "My turn."   
  
  
Buffy woke with Spike wrapped tightly around her like a very friendly octopus. He was out like a light -- out cold, she amended, adding one to her already burgeoning collection of sleeping vampire jokes. He held her so close that she could hardly move. She was comfy, but not sleepy; in fact, despite the strenuous activities of the past few hours, she felt invigorated. She couldn't see the clock, either, but it was still dark. For a while, she amused herself with admiring his right arm, which guarded the front of her body. His forearm was about twice as big around as hers, and rippled with steely muscle under the fair, scarred skin; though she noticed that, just as he had said, the scars were already less noticeable. She wriggled over on her side to get more comfortable, and he said, "Ungh?"  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Mmmm."  
  
"I feel good."  
  
"Mmmm. True."  
  
"I feel really good," she said meaningly. "I mean, lively, you know?"  
  
She could feel him reluctantly bidding sleep goodbye. "Could that have anything to do with making insanely passionate love for four hours?" he said.  
  
"Maybe it could," she admitted. "But I think I've got my strength back, you know, from the depletion-y thing."  
  
That woke him up. "Now that you mention it -- " he said, propping his head up on one hand.   
  
"I mean, it could be -- what we've been doing, but it could also be -- "  
  
"You and me and all the other vamps in Sunnyhell suddenly getting over it?"  
  
"Maybe we should get out there and see what's going on," she said. Though on second thought, maybe returning vigor would make staying in bed just as entertaining as going out and killing things. She was almost sorry she'd brought it up, or, um, mentioned it.  
  
"Well," he nibbling the back of her neck just at the hairline where it was damp with delicious sweat, "I'm up for it. In fact," he drawled, sensuously pulling her against him, "I'm up for just about anything right now. Want me to demonstrate?"  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"I DREAM'D this mortal part of mine  
Was metamorphosed to a vine;  
Which crawling one and every way,  
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.  
Me thought, her long small legs and thighs  
I with my tendrils did surprise;  
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist  
By my soft nervelits were embraced:  
About her head I writhing hung,  
And with rich clusters (hid among  
The leaves) her temples I behung:  
So that my Lucia seemed to me  
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.  
My curls about her neck did crawl,  
And arms and hands they did enthrall:  
So that she could not freely stir,  
(All parts there made one prisoner.)  
But when I crept with leaves to hide  
Those parts, which maids keep unespied,  
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,  
That with the fancy I awoke;  
And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine  
More like a stock then like a vine."  
  
Robert Herrick 


	21. Marvel to See

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13 - No sex, only violence  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
NO SPOILERS THIS TIME  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part 21. Marvel to See   
  
  
Buffy and Spike crept downstairs almost giddily, heading out into the darkness for a hunt. True, they wanted to check the local demon and vampire population for renewed vigor, since they themselves had shaken off the effects of paranormal exhaustion sooner than the humans, but really they were looking for a little violent fun and they both knew it. They went out through the kitchen door, leaving a note stuck to the refrigerator with a banana-shaped magnet: 'Went out to kill something. Back by sunrise. B. & S.'   
  
"Should reassure 'em if they even wake up," Spike observed cheerfully. "Let's make for the baddies, all right, love?"  
  
Hand in hand they strolled towards the nearest cemetery. It was a dark and clear night, and the trees were covered with new leaves, which rustled a bit in the spring breeze. Both of them listened hard for any untoward noises signifying vampire activity. Spike was actually bouncing on his toes in happy anticipation, and Buffy even gave a little skip. She felt a thrill of excitement she hadn't experienced in a long time. Once she had hated that feeling; being a predator was wrong, wasn't it? It was bad; it was ugly. It wasn't normal. It made her less than human. Now, with Spike at her side, it seemed so right; and exhilarating, too, all of a sudden. She felt more than human, not less.  
  
Soon enough they heard a stealthy approach, and exchanging a glance they split up in a flanking maneuver. One, two, no four vampires were making their way along the graveyard path with no effort at concealment. Honestly, didn't they know this was the Slayer's town? Annoyed, Buffy stepped out in front of them and said sweetly, "I'm sorry -- were you boys looking for me?" The first vamp snarled and lunged for her throat, and she sprang into action, back kick, front kick, left hook, right cross. Spike went into game face at once, releasing his demon(s) with a pleased laugh, and fell on the vamps from the back, his black leather coat flying about him like dark wings. Now this was fun. Each vamp was softened up with forceful blows and tossed to Buffy for the kill, and between them they dusted all four in what seemed like record time.  
  
Buffy stood brushing off her clothes, while Spike looked down at the dust-covered ground in some frustration. "Well, that was just sad," he said disdainfully.   
  
"Maybe they were still sleepy," Buffy said. Then she realized she was defending the dead vamps' capabilities, so to speak. Well, she didn't like to see Spike disappointed.  
  
"Okay, let's look 'round some more, then," he said, slipping back into human face. They moved along in companionable silence. It was a beautiful night, even a romantic night, but Spike had laid down the ground rules before they left the house. 'No snogging until we've done our bloody job.' So let's kill things already, she thought. And four dopey vamps didn't really make their joint quota.  
  
They crossed the cemetery diagonally, taking a shortcut (little used for various Sunnydale-specific reasons, most of them with pointy teeth) that led to the park. The bushes were a bit thicker here, and there was an iron fence, easily hopped, for those with super-strength at least. They were just about to start over it when Spike whispered, "Aha!" flaring his nostrils like a war-horse scenting battle. He signaled to her to conceal herself and a few moments later she heard grunting and snorting coming their way from the other side of the fence.   
  
Three demons lumbered into view, big, hairy, and long-horned; in fact, they looked like bipedal highland cattle, with rather bovine faces -- except for the sharp tusks and claws. Buffy worked her way closer to the fence, and peered through. She could see the area of the park Warren had used for his Hellmouth power-siphoning spell clearly; several figures were standing about, black against a dim, occult reddish light. She couldn't identify any of the figures but one -- Amy!   
  
As she watched, a tall man with lank hair hanging about his face put his hand on Amy's shoulder, and ugly reddish sparks arced from his fingers. She saw him push the girl roughly so that she stumbled, and they both turned to leave in the opposite direction. Uh-oh, Buffy thought. The barrier that kept the Hellmouth closed was thinning, as Giles had feared. And just as he had said, users of dark magic were attracted to this spot -- it was starting already.   
  
The cattle-demons were making for the fence, right where Buffy and Spike had concealed themselves. Apparently they knew about the shortcut, too. One moved out ahead of the other two, possibly a scout, or the leader. They were obviously on a mission, and whatever it was, they had to be prevented from carrying it out. Buffy cursed her lack of weaponry. She and Spike were strong, but these guys were big. Really, really big. For a moment she caught Spike's eye, which had a distinct gleam in it; they were going to go for it anyway. She felt an eager shiver of anticipation run right down to her toes.  
  
The lead creature reached the fence and began to climb; as it dropped between them, it spotted Buffy and attacked without hesitation; Spike, fully vamped out, growled and pounced. Between them, they pummeled it to the ground, with no fancy footwork required, just brute force. Unfortunately this was barely effective; the monster kept trying to lumber to its feet, slashing with its talons, biting, and emitting guttural bellows, and the soon the others would be upon them.  
  
"We should have brought axes or something," Buffy panted between blows; "Our bad! I don't think a stake's gonna affect this guy!"  
  
"Hold him!"  
  
Kneeling on the enormous creature's back, she grabbed its arms, and Spike took a solid grip on its antlers; with an echoing roar, he gave a mighty twist. The head came off in his hands, spraying demon blood over Buffy and himself; she leaped back from the fallen carcass in surprise. His eyes glowing yellow, Spike lifted the massive head up and brought it down over his knee, breaking off one antler, which he politely tossed to Buffy. Then he twisted the other antler off, and threw the head aside. "These are nice and sharp," he said, grinning happily, fangs gleaming. "Now for his pals." They had weapons after all, it seemed.   
  
Buffy smiled hugely, her eyes shining. "Cool!" she said.  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"And when they saw Sir Percival they asked him of whence he was. And he answered: Of the court of King Arthur. Then they cried all at once: Slay him. Then Sir Percival smote the first to the earth and his horse upon him. And then seven of the knights smote upon his shield all at once, and the remnant slew his horse so that he fell to the earth. So had they slain him or taken him had not the good knight, Sir Galahad, with the red arms come there by adventure into those parts. And when he saw all those knights upon one knight he cried: Save me that knight's life. And then he dressed him toward the twenty men of arms as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and smote the foremost horse and man to the earth. And when his spear was broken he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on the left hand that it was marvel to see, and at every stroke he smote one down or put him to a rebuke, so that they would fight no more but fled to a thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them."   
  
Sir Thomas Malory, The Holy Grail 


	22. Gentle His Condition

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
  
SPOILERS, DEFINITELY SPOILERS  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part 22. Gentle His Condition  
  
The Scooby meeting was called for eleven-thirty Sunday morning. Xander and Anya had arrived bearing doughnuts, muffins, and a large container of fruit salad. Brunch came first, and Jonathan was expected later in the day. He had sounded nervous but eager to please on the phone, and Buffy applied just enough pressure to motivate him, but not enough to scare him - she hoped. Giles had strong reservations about recruiting Jonathan, but they really had no choice.  
  
Meanwhile, Buffy explained those experiences of the night before that were suitable for public consumption to Giles, Willow, Xander, Anya and Dawn, sitting again around the familiar dining room table. "So we couldn't see what they were up to exactly, but Rack was there, and Amy, though she didn't look too happy about it," she said.  
  
"Poor Amy," said Willow a little sadly. Then, as they all looked at her, she went on, "well, she was a pet, you know? I got sort of attached."  
  
"She's caused nothing but trouble for you, Will," Xander said. "I'm thinking I liked her better as a rat."  
  
"Transmogrification often brings out the best in humans," Anya observed. "It's very educational."  
  
"Okay, let's just not mention that theory in front of Spike, hon," Xander said.  
  
"Anyway, none of the vamps were up to snuff yet - except Spike," Buffy continued, reverting to the subject at hand, "but those towel demons or whatever were pretty strong, all right. And they were there for a reason."  
  
"Ah - towel demons?" Giles inquired.  
  
"Well, that's what Spike said," said Buffy.  
  
"Where is Spike?"  
  
"He'll be right down. Morning sun makes him sleepy," she said complacently. "Look, I'll show you something we got from them."  
  
She left the room for a moment, and returned to place an armload of long, sharp, recently cleaned horns down on the sideboard.  
  
"Good heavens!" Giles said. "Towzie demon horns!"  
  
"Whatever. Spike ripped their heads off," Buffy said proudly. "Then we used these like spears."  
  
"You stabbed them with their own horns? That's just really gross and way cool at the same time," Dawn observed through a mouthful of muffin.   
  
"May I be the first to say 'eeeewww'?" said Xander.   
  
"Ooh," said Anya, in a rather different tone. "Valuable. And pricey."  
  
"Feel free," Spike entered jauntily, a mug of nuked blood in his hand. It had been a long time since he'd ripped anything's head off, and he'd honestly enjoyed it, not to mention the appreciative look on Buffy's face. Or her even more enthusiastic expression of appreciation later, when the words 'big bad' had even been mentioned. "Plenty more where they came from."  
  
"So we can conclude that Rack is calling up whatever forces he can muster, I take it?" Giles said.  
  
"Looks like." Spike answered, selecting a muffin. The others were just as glad not to see him dunk a doughnut in his mug of blood. "These guys were just run-of-the-mill mercenaries. No brains, just muscle."  
  
"Mercenaries with big sharp teeth and horns," Xander said. "So, basically, he WANTS the Hellmouth open, so he can make deals with whatever comes out - "  
  
"Which just show that he's a pillock, because he's not strong enough to trade with them - they'll just gobble him up in about three bites. He's just a low-rent, down-and-dirty type of wizard - he's got nothing to interest them," Spike went on. Willow shrank a little in her chair, but didn't say anything.  
  
"And he's probably going to stage some kind of pre-emptive strike to keep us from re-sealing the Hellmouth," Xander pursued.  
  
"Right; so if you ask me, we need to stage a pre-pre-emptive strike," Spike said.  
  
"Surprise him before he surprises us," said Xander.  
  
"Exactly," Spike agreed.  
  
"Excuse me, but aren't we forgetting that Rack does have quite a bit of power?" Giles said. He felt the younger men - well, Spike wasn't exactly younger, but he might as well be - were getting ahead of him; "Of a crude type, I'll grant you, but it's still power. Do we want to risk our resources taking him on at this point?  
  
"Yeah," Spike said flatly. "'Cause he knows enough to suss out what we're doing. We can only do it at a particular moment; we can't let him delay us, and we can't let him interrupt us, or it'll be no go."  
  
"Tactically speaking, we should take him out;" Xander said firmly. "I'm with Spike on this." Then, realizing what he'd said, he opened his mouth to take it back when his attention was deflected by Anya giving his hand a gentle squeeze. They were almost always hand in hand now, he noticed. It just seemed natural that way.   
  
"I love it when you use military jargon." She smiled at him. "It's very manly."  
  
"Thank you for sharing that, hon," he said, almost without irony. After all, it was better to have the woman he loved, passionate, complex, and unpredictable as she was, expressing her admiration than not, even if her phrasing sometimes left something to be desired.  
  
The doorbell rang. Buffy went to open it, and Jonathan stood on the front porch, his dark eyes extremely anxious; but he held his ground. "Hi, Buffy," he said, with hardly a quaver.  
  
"Come on in," Buffy said, with a serious face. She led him into the living room, where the rest of the Scooby gang joined them; they too had grown grave.   
  
"First - I want to say I'm sorry about your friend," he said bravely. "I never knew - I never thought anything like that could happen."  
  
Willow looked at him with stricken eyes. "I know you didn't," she said quietly. "I guess none of us knew what could happen."  
  
"I never knew what Warren was planning, you know? And then he wouldn't let me leave. But whatever you think I can do to help you, I will," he said. "I don't know what that is, but whatever it is, I'll try."   
  
Buffy smiled at him. "That's all we're asking," she said.   
  
Just then Spike appeared with another mug of blood - last night had made him peckish - and Jonathan jumped about a foot. "Oh, relax," Spike said irritably. "Like I'd eat you, anyway."  
  
"Spike!" Buffy said warningly. She turned to Jonathan. "Don't worry, he's good now."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Well, you are," she insisted.   
  
"Am not!" He thought about it. "I'm ambiguous. Shades of gray, you know? Too complex to pin down."  
  
"Yeah, right," Buffy said sarcastically, resisting the urge to remark that she'd pinned him down pretty effectively the night before. In a consensual way, of course. But her eyes spoke volumes. She turned again to Jonathan. "Well, anyway, he's on our side, and he's NOT going to kill anybody. Or even TALK about killing anybody." Ignoring Spike's derisive snort, she continued, "So, Jonathan, we do need your help."  
  
"Okay," he said. "I'm not really that strong; I don't have much power."  
  
"We understand that," Giles said. "We need your expertise in handling magic itself; Spike here will supply the power. But the seal on the Hellmouth must be strengthened, and it must be done within a certain time frame. We're left with no leeway to call in reinforcements - so we do need you."  
  
Jonathan looked at Spike, glowering in his armchair, with renewed apprehension. He swallowed. "What about Rack?" he said. Willow cringed slightly, but didn't speak.  
  
"What do you know about Rack?"  
  
"Well, Warren got a lot of help from him, and he's still out there. He wanted the Hellmouth to open."  
  
"He's certainly up to no good. He was seen near the Hellmouth last night with some fighting demons, apparently in his employ. The demons were, ah, neutralized, but he's still at large."  
  
"I still say we need to 'neutralize' him, too, Rupes, while we're about it," Spike chimed in.   
  
"Yes," Giles sighed, "I fear you're right."  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  
For he today that sheds his blood with me  
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile  
This day shall gentle his condition;  
And gentlemen in England, now abed  
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,  
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks  
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."  
  
Shakespeare, Henry V 


	23. Here Draw I a Sword

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
ACTUALLY NO SPOILERS THIS TIME  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part 23. Here Draw I a Sword  
  
  
The doorbell rang again. Spike opened the door for Clem. "'Lo, mate, good to see you. Come on in."  
  
"You know how you asked me to keep an eye on Rack?" Clem said urgently. "Well, it looks like he's up to something big. He's been doing some major summoning; I asked around, but nobody can tell what he's calling up, exactly. It's pretty scary stuff, though."  
  
"We know," said Spike. "We saw him at it, too. Just what we needed right now."  
  
Buffy said, "Jonathan, you haven't met our friend Clement before."   
  
The group in the living room welcomed their demon friend. Jonathan gulped, and stole a few apprehensive glances at his 'skin condition'; but since the others seemed to know him, Jonathan didn't ask any awkward questions. Clem was there on business, however.  
  
"Rack's a bad dude," Clem said. "Very bad reputation. If something evil's going on, he'll be involved in it."  
  
"Ah, yes, indeed. I fear this can hardly be a coincidence. He probably has quite a good idea of what's happening," Giles said. "We're working on the assumption that he means to distract us from our attempt to seal the Hellmouth, since he has plans to use it himself."  
  
"Something's gotta be done about that geezer," Spike said. "And soon. We can't have him interfering on the night."  
  
Willow spoke up, a bit hesitantly. "What do you know about the summoning? I mean, do you know what ingredients he might have used? What time of day or night it was? Did he have any others helping him with the spell?"  
  
"Yes, that's a very good notion, Willow," Giles said approvingly. "That information might certainly narrow it down."  
  
"I know some particulars," Clem said.  
  
"Well, look, if you could tell me everything you found out, I think we can figure out what's happening. Using my computer," she added hastily, with a glance at Spike.   
  
Willow set up her laptop on the dining room table, and Clem sat beside her feeding her information. She swiftly created a database to cross-reference summoning spells and their required elements. Winnowing out the details looked like it would take a couple of hours; Xander ordered pizza, and the others sat around the living room in desultory conversation, the television on but the sound muted. Shadows began to appear on the front lawn. Spike smoked morosely in his armchair; he didn't like the looks of this. At all.   
  
Eventually Willow and Clem appeared in the doorway triumphantly waving a printout.   
  
"We've got it!" she said.  
  
"Well, we've sort of got it," Clem amended. "We narrowed it down. There are three types of evil demons it could be -- "  
  
Willow read from her list. "It could be: a large Tennack demon -- "  
  
"Oh, I don't think so," Anya said helpfully, "because you have to feed them whole cows every day, or they get cranky."  
  
"I love a woman with esoteric knowledge," Xander said.  
  
"Excellent! Scratch the Tennack demon - and I'll just add that little factoid to my demon database. Then there's a group of Kaa Lore demons," she said, looking a question at Anya, who shook her head; she didn't know that one. "OR, a family of Izran demons."   
  
"No, it couldn't be them, either," said Anya, "because they have to be immersed in seawater every twenty-four hours. At least, it would be very impractical."  
  
"You go, girl," Xander said.  
  
"Great! Kaa Lore it is, then!" Willow said, high-five-ing Clem, who thoughtfully held his talons out of the way so as not to scratch her fingers. She actually felt good for a moment. This was real Scooby work.   
  
Bitterly, Spike said, "Bugger!" Giles gave him an inquiring glance, and he responded, "Warrior demons. Can only be killed by being pierced through the heart with a metal blade. Operate in groups of four - technically called messes," he added.   
  
"So we've actually got a whole mess of demons?" Xander asked rhetorically. Spike gave him a look.   
  
"No axe-y hacking and slashing? No stakes? No crossbow?" Buffy said. She didn't see what the problem was; it just sounded like an opportunity for more Slayer fun. "I'm pretty good with a sword, though. I think there's an extra one upstairs; I'll get it." She headed for the stairs.  
  
"I'm, ah, pretty good with a sword myself," Giles said with becoming modesty. "And I do think we should dispose of these possible impediments as soon as possible. Do we know how many demons there are?"  
  
"No, but if they travel in fours, there must be at least eight, because he's done exactly the same summoning twice, so far." Clem said.  
  
"So, we need another swordsman, then?" Giles said. "That shouldn't be too difficult to arrange, should it, Spike?"  
  
"Yeah, well, the thing is, there's a bit of a problem there."  
  
"Why? You should have, um, access to plenty of swordmasters."  
  
"Right." He took a rather agitated drag on his cigarette. "The thing is, none of them are bloody left-handed."  
  
"Dear me! I never thought of that. Well, can't you -- you know, adapt?"  
  
"Not within twenty-four bloody hours, I can't. And we should do this tonight." He sprang to his feet. "Let me see what I can do," he said, striding through the kitchen and out the back door.  
  
"Three against eight?" Xander said. "Those sound like good odds."  
  
Jonathan asked uneasily, "You don't want me for this part, right? Because I don't do weapons - "   
  
"No, no; occult work only, no action; don't worry," Giles reassured him.  
  
Buffy came down the stairs, carrying two swords wrapped in a blanket. "Where's Spike?" she said immediately.   
  
Giles cleaned his glasses. "We've hit a bit of a snag," he said. "He's trying to work something out."  
  
Buffy looked at him curiously, but she could hear the sound of Spike's voice, so she followed it. Dusk had fallen, and he was pacing back and forth across the backyard, puffing furiously, and talking to himself.   
  
"Oh, right," she heard him say. "Well, you should have bleeding thought of that before, shouldn't you? I don't see why I have to think of everything."   
  
Then, having apparently received a reply, he said, "Oh, no; no re-wiring. That's bloody out. You lot just find somebody. And do it quick."   
  
"What's he doing?" Buffy whispered to Giles, who had followed her, and was watching with bemusement.   
  
"He's, ah, arguing."   
  
"Oh." She thought it over. "Who's winning, can you tell?"  
  
"Well, that'll have to do, won't it? I thought all you great brains had a better grip," Spike said sarcastically to thin air. "Just go ahead, then. And this had better work." He sighed in exasperation, and mounted the porch steps, saying to Giles through the screen, "Listen, Rupes, we found somebody we can use, but he's from a bit further back, so keep an eye on him, right?"  
  
"How much further, exactly?"  
  
"1740."  
  
"Good lord. Well, if we must, we must. Who is it, exactly?"  
  
"Etienne De Treville."  
  
"Good lord!"   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"I thank him that he cuts me from my tale,  
For I profess not talking. Only this,-  
Let each man do his best: and here draw I  
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain  
With the best blood that I can meet withal  
In the adventure of this perilous day."  
  
Shakespeare, Henry IV Part I 


	24. Ready for Anything

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
ACTUALLY NO SPOILERS THIS TIME  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part 23. Ready for Anything  
  
  
"Good lord!" Giles exclaimed.  
  
"Don't just keep saying that, Rupert! There's no time to do anything else." Spike still looked put out.   
  
"What's the problem?" Buffy asked. "What's so 'good lord'-worthy about this guy?"  
  
"Remember that I told you some of Spike's, uh, gang, literally wrote the books? He's one of them. You and I actually trained using his books on swordcraft; they're classics. He was a legendary Watcher."  
  
"Oh." She hadn't actually read the books. But still. "But that's good, right? Isn't that good?" she said. "Why isn't that good?"  
  
"It IS good," Giles said firmly. "He's one of the greatest swordsmen the world has ever known - but his era was rather long ago. It might prove difficult for him to, um, adjust. The rules have changed somewhat since then."  
  
"We should do this now, so he can get acclimated," Spike said edgily. "He's a good bloke, but he's not up to speed on the nineteenth century yet, much less the twenty-first." He stood irresolutely on the porch.  
  
"Well, go ahead, then," Giles said.   
  
"I can't decide if he'd be more freaked inside or outside. Maybe inside's better," he said, and strode through the house into the living room, Buffy and Giles close behind.   
  
"Turn off the television, will you, Xander?" Giles said. "We're going to have another visitation."   
  
"Hold on to your hats, guys," Xander said to Clem and Jonathan, clicking the remote control. "And possibly your heads. You're not gonna believe this."   
  
"What's going on?" Willow said. She'd missed the previous performance.   
  
"Spike's going bye-bye," Xander replied.  
  
"Watch it, newt-boy," Spike growled. He seemed far more agitated this time. He put out his cigarette, and paced a little before finding a clear spot in the archway to the hall. Then he stood still for a moment in the way they had come to recognize, and closed his eyes - and was gone.   
  
"Whoa!" Clem whispered.   
  
"Damn, I hate that!" Buffy muttered. It gave her goose bumps; she fidgeted uncomfortably.   
  
There was a brief pause. Then someone taller, straighter, and indefinably foreign stood there instead. Of course, Spike was foreign, technically speaking, but this was different. He stood with his eyes closed for a moment, balancing his arms in front of him, apparently getting the sense of the body he was using. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Giles, his face full of a slightly mocking sophistication that seemed very, well, French.  
  
"The Watcher's nightmare, M'sieur Giles, is it not?" he said, his voice smooth and intriguingly accented. "Now I am a vampire."  
  
"Well, yes; strictly speaking, ah, you, you, you are a vampire," Giles stammered rather nervously, looking at their visitor with undisguised awe. "How do you do, Chevalier? As you know, I'm, ah, Rupert Giles."  
  
The Chevalier bowed gracefully. Just as before, his audience was nearly paralyzed with amazement; they could almost see the plumed hat he would have liked to sweep off, the cloak thrown over his shoulder, and the sword at his hip. He also seemed to have a mustache, somehow. "M'sieur," he said. His eyes swept the room. "I hope you will present me," he said politely.  
  
Giles pulled himself together and feeling that a certain formality was called for introduced the ladies first. "Certainly. Everyone, this is Chevalier Etienne De Treville. Chevalier, these are the Slayer's friends and, ah, associates; Miss Willow Rosenberg -- "   
  
"Mademoiselle." He swiftly crossed the room to kiss Willow's hand. Her eyes grew very round. This was more like it. The girls sat up entranced as the Chevalier repeated his action with each one in turn.  
  
"Anya Emerson."  
  
"Madame," he said.  
  
"And this is Dawn Summers," Giles continued.  
  
"Ah! The sister of the Slayer." He kissed her hand, too, much to Dawn's delight.   
  
"Alexander Harris."  
  
Another bow. "M'sieur."  
  
"Hey," Xander felt a little on edge. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about this guy. True, he wasn't Spike, which won him points right off. But he seemed almost too self-confident. And suave. And elegant. There was something dangerous about him, too, which wasn't obscured by all that hand kissing, even though the women seemed to be falling for it big-time.   
  
Gilew went on with the introductions."Jonathan." Jonathan goggled as the Chevalier bowed.  
  
"Our friend Clement - " Giles wasn't exactly sure how an eighteenth century Watcher would feel about fraternizing with demons, however friendly.  
  
"Comment allez-vous?" Clem said shyly.  
  
"Bien, merci, M'sieur Clement," the Chevalier said.  
  
"I didn't know you could speak French!" Xander stage-whispered. Clem shrugged modestly.  
  
Giles moved on. Apparently, good demons were all right with the Chevalier.  
  
"And of course, this is Buffy Summers, the Slayer."  
  
As Dr. MacNab had done, the Chevalier took her hand between both of his, and seemed at a loss for words for a moment. He looked at her through Spike's intensely blue eye as if she recalled for him a lost world of memories, happy, proud and sorrowful. "I am honored," he said finally.  
  
Buffy felt extra weird this time. For one thing, the Chevalier was - well, very attractive in his own right. For another, she had to wonder what he knew about her nighttime activities with Spike, and thought of that made her blush. On top of all the rest, the hands holding hers were still Spike's familiar hands, and she felt an urge to cling to them. She dropped her eyes and he released her at once.   
  
"So," he said. "I understand we must now fight with swords, yes?"   
  
"Exactly," Giles said. "Are you familiar with Kaa Lore demons?  
  
"But yes. They require a mere thrust through the heart; they have no skill. That should be simple enough."  
  
"Well, there are a lot of them, and not so many of us," Buffy said practically. "So we needed help."   
  
"Mademoiselle, I am honored," he repeated, and also bowed again. Buffy thought she could get used to this, actually. "May I see your swords?"  
  
"Um, sure," she said. "And call me Buffy, okay?" She scrambled to the weapons chest and opened it, lifting out the top tray to reveal larger weapons underneath. He followed her, very closely watched by three pairs of feminine eyes.  
  
"Very well; but 'Buffy' is not so easy to say," he said, with a charming smile. "You must call me Etienne."  
  
"So I've got about six swords," she said, again flushing a little. "I usually use stakes, myself; you know, close combat. Though Spike likes an axe. A nice, big axe."  
  
"If the technique is correct, a sword should be sufficient," Etienne said simply. "If one cannot cut the head off a vampire in a single stroke, one needs a better sword."  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"And so M. de Treville was praised in all keys by these men, who absolutely adored him, and who, ruffians as they were, trembled before him like scholars before their master, obedient to his least word, and ready to sacrifice themselves to wipe out the least insult.  
  
The court of his hotel, situated in the Rue du Vieux-Colombier, resembled a camp as early as six o'clock in the morning in summer and eight o'clock in winter. From fifty to sixty musketeers, who appeared to relieve each other there, in order always to present an imposing number, paraded constantly about, armed to the teeth and ready for anything."  
  
Alexander Dumas, The Three Musketeers 


	25. Bright as Lightnings

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
NOT AT ALL SPOILERY  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part 25. Bright as Lightnings  
  
  
"M'sieur Giles, shall we try our weapons?"   
  
"We, ah, don't have buttons for our foils."  
  
"In truth, I will undertake not to touch you, my friend," Etienne said.  
  
"But I might pink you - "   
  
Without the slightest intention of offending, Etienne then annoyed Giles very much. He smiled in pure amusement. "Oh, I do not think so," he said easily.   
  
Five against eight - especially when two of the five were the Slayer and a vampire master-swordsman - were acceptable odds. Giles, Buffy, Etienne, Xander, and Clem would go on an expedition to 'neutralize' Rack and his minions tonight, before he grew even stronger. Since everyone would need to use a sword Etienne wanted to see what the others could do, so they pushed the furniture back in the living room for a brief practice session. True, the circumstances weren't ideal, but they wouldn't be later on, either. The others watched with interest from a safe distance.   
  
Giles stretched his sword arm. "Well, perhaps not," he conceded; "and anyway, you are using a vampire's body. It wouldn't damage him much if I did pink you."  
  
"Hey!" Buffy said irately. "There will be no wanton damage to Spike!"  
  
"I only meant - "  
  
"Do not worry, Buffy," Etienne intervened, charmingly mispronouncing her name. "I think M'sieur Giles will not damage M'sieur Spike at all."  
  
"Very well," said Giles, growing quite nettled. Really, it wasn't as if he were an amateur. After all, he'd used the fellow's own books. "Shall we begin, then?"  
  
Etienne said, "But certainly." They stood facing each other in the middle of the room and saluted with two fairly high-grade rapiers.  
  
Surprisingly, Giles opened quickly with a feint to the right, which was met with an easy riposte, and a return attack starting rather low, which he was able to parry. But from then on, all his concentration was taken up with meeting an astonishing variety of feints and thrusts, some of them seeming to come very close to his person.   
  
Jonathan looked frightened, and backed up even further. This was very noisy and scary, and as far as he could see, those pointy steel blades were just as likely to spin out of control. Anya stood breathlessly with her hands clasped before her; it had been decades - okay, even a couple of centuries - since she'd seen a good duel (in fact she'd caused quite a few herself), and she'd forgotten how thrilling it was to watch.   
  
All Xander knew about swordplay was summarized in a quote from The Mask of Zorro: "The pointy end goes into the other man." Somehow, Giles and Etienne's fencing was more like a dance; each one seemed almost magically to know where the other's blade was going to go, and was prepared to meet it. He could almost hear the music, the rhythm accompanied by metallic clangs and slithers. It was dazzling and impossible. They weren't trading quips like Robin Hood and the Sheriff of Nottingham, but Etienne was certainly laughing.   
  
Finally (after what seemed like a very long time to Giles) Etienne stepped back, dropping his sword point. "But this is truly excellent, my friend," he said enthusiastically. "Far too good for mere Kaa Lore demons!"  
  
"Thank you," Giles wheezed. "I'm a bit out of practice." He noticed with resentment that his opponent was not even breathing hard - or at all.   
  
Buffy actually jumped up and down. "Me next! Me next!" she cried. Etienne bowed slightly, and she assumed her position opposite him, eyes shining. She really did enjoy swordplay. They took each other's measure for a moment, both with serious expressions. This was worthy of respect. They touched swords in the middle, and then the bout began.   
  
The two flashing swords were literally a glinting blur to their observers; the blades moved up, down, across, back, left and right with truly inhuman speed. Etienne obviously had the advantage of height and reach, but Buffy spun like a dervish, and what's more was an original tactician, attempting more than once to throw him off-guard with some unusual counter-move. They were both laughing when they stepped back on some signal invisible to the others. "Very, very good, Buffy!" he said. "You have such force! If you studied, you would be truly formidable."  
  
"If I studied?" Buffy almost pouted. Actually, she thought she was pretty formidable right now. And she didn't like to study.   
  
"If you learned to think ahead, you would be almost invincible," he said with calm authority. "You must not only know what your opponent will do of his own accord, but lead him to do what you want him to do. Then he is in your power, in effect, and you can kill him swiftly. Or slowly, if you wish," he added, with a rather disconcerting grin. Suddenly he looked like Spike.  
  
"Well, that is an excellent lesson for another time, don't you think?" Giles interrupted, as Buffy opened her mouth to argue. "Right now, we need to prepare ourselves."  
  
"But yes, certainly. M'sieur Giles, will you instruct M'sieur Clement?" He turned to Xander. "Come, M'sieur Harris, let us see how you hold a sword." Xander gulped, then moved resolutely forward to take his lesson in swordsmanship.   
  
With some assistance from Giles, Jonathan was able to throw a protective ward around the house, which would hold for a relatively brief period of time - long enough for them to complete their mission, Giles hoped. Willow, Jonathan, and Anya stayed at the Summers house with Dawn.  
  
Finally, the designated fighters piled into Buffy's Mom's SUV and drove off on their mission. Afterwards, Jonathan paced the living room nervously; he was committed now, but he didn't have to like it. They had pushed the furniture back into place, and Dawn was watching re-runs on TV, while Anya leafed unseeingly through a fashion magazine, making occasional derogatory comments.   
  
Willow really didn't feel that she could face talking to Anya, and Dawn still didn't meet her eyes. But she didn't want to talk to Jonathan, either; if she was fated to be a nerd once more, at least she wasn't going to start by hanging out with an uber-nerd. She went back into the dining room and fired up the laptop again. Maybe she could hit the net and find out more about these demons.   
  
She was absorbed in this when Jonathan worked up the nerve to seek her out nevertheless. After all, he'd known her since the third grade, or seen her in the hallways at school, anyway. They weren't exactly friends, but - well, they knew each other. He knew that he hadn't come off too well in the late unpleasantness with Warren, but Willow hadn't either.   
  
Also, something had been worrying him. "So what's with Spike?" he said. "I thought he was a vampire. And, you know, evil. Why's he here?"  
  
"Now he's sort of a super-vampire," Willow said unhelpfully, apparently engrossed in what she was doing. "And not so much with the evil anymore, either. I'm guessing he's here to help Buffy." She smiled a little uncertainly, reserve in her eyes that he couldn't understand. "That's what we're all here for, isn't it?"  
  
She'd managed to find a good demon concordance site, and was doing a comprehensive search on Kaa Lore demons. He was just about to ask her about it, when all of a sudden she opened her eyes in dismay; Jonathan looked at the screen too, and gasped.   
  
"Oops!" Willow said.   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"'Allez, messieurs!' The slender, wickedly delicate blades clashed together, and after a momentary glissade were whirling, swift and bright as lightnings, and almost as impossible to follow with the eye."  
  
Rafael Sabatini, Scaramouche 


	26. Delight of Battle

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
NO SPOILERS - LONG BUT SPUFFY  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part 26. Delight of Battle   
  
  
"Where is your master, hounds?" Etienne called out derisively to what looked - to Buffy's trained eye - like a whole bunch of demons.  
  
Rack was holed up in an abandoned store, and massed inside were big, speckled, green, inexplicably squirmy demons. A growl rose from amongst them, and one of the pack lumbered angrily forward. Uh-oh, Buffy thought, getting a closer look. Etienne just grinned and danced backwards, drawing the beast out the back door and into the alley. Grasping her own sword - lightly, as she had been taught - she leapt forward to join him.  
  
There had been no need for a big evil-vibe hunt; Clem knew where Rack was. They decided to approach the shuttered shop through an alleyway in back, and then determine whether to reconnoiter further or simply rush the place.   
  
Perhaps because Xander drove instead of Buffy, Etienne had displayed no particular uneasiness about riding in her SUV. Apparently he chose to view it as just another carriage. Buffy's tension grew and grew, however, not because of the coming fight, but because she was feeling Spike's absence. She didn't want to fight beside someone else - she wanted to fight beside Spike. The same empty ache she'd felt when he went away was beginning to throb inside.  
  
Sitting beside her in the back seat, Etienne sensed her unease. "Are you worried, Buffy?" he said quietly. "These demons are not so dangerous, after all." She looked up into his blue eyes. It was the man - the being - she loved, and yet so much not him. Finally she decided that the Watchers should know how she felt.   
  
"It's not that," she said frankly. "I don't feel right when Spike's gone. I'm - I'm always afraid he won't come back, that he won't be able to come back."  
  
He bent his head. "Buffy, please believe what I say." He spoke very softly, so none of the others could hear. "Nothing will be permitted to keep him from you."  
  
Then he turned away from the questions in her eyes as though he had said too much already.   
  
Meanwhile, in the front seat, Xander hissed to Giles, "Holy Casper, G-man! Do you see that?"  
  
"I'm sorry; what?" Giles said, inattentively. "What did you say?" In response, Xander just signaled with his eyes for Giles to look in the rear-view mirror. "What?" Giles said again. Then he looked.   
  
"Good God!" he said. What he saw was a ghost - sitting beside Buffy and apparently conversing with her. Both he and Xander were quite used to the lack of reflection where Spike's should be; they never gave it a thought anymore. But now there was just the faintest, shimmering outline of a man - Etienne De Treville, obviously - where empty space should be. Giles felt ice roll up his spine.   
  
Eyes wide, Xander said, "Now I am officially creeped out for this evening. Rack had better pull something big to top this."  
  
Giles looked at him. "You know, I would think you'd lived in Sunnydale long enough not to say things like that," he said severely.  
  
After parking the van, they met briefly to discuss their options - Giles favored gathering a bit more intelligence - when Etienne suddenly threw his head up (or, technically, Spike's head) and made a dash for the back entrance, saying, "Follow me, my friends!"  
  
Xander remarked, "I guess we're going to rush them."  
  
"Good lord, he's worse than Spike," said Giles, taking to his heels in pursuit.  
  
Buffy cursed under her breath. She didn't want any harm to come to Spike through Etienne's overconfidence. Naturally, she easily outstripped the other three, and arrived in time to see him draw the none-too-bright demons out of the store one by one.  
  
On reaching the scene, Xander skidded to a halt so that Giles actually bumped into him. "Hey, wait a minute!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "Nobody said anything about tentacles!"  
  
As Giles, Clem and Xander watched in consternation, eight large green demons surged out of the shop's back door, single file. Each one had only two arms, and a rather well defined dark spot in the center of the chest over the heart; but unfortunately they also had two pairs of powerful tentacles emerging from each shoulder, to grasp, tear, and hold their opponents.  
  
"Damn!" Giles exclaimed, and waded in, hacking at the nearest one.   
  
Two of the Kaa Lores fell immediately, impaled by Etienne's preternaturally swift blade, oozing slippery, repulsive looking green blood. Buffy took down two more. Then one caught her by the arm and leg, and Xander hacked at its tentacle until it released her. She returned the favor by neatly skewering one that was just about to seize him around the neck. Clem and Giles stood back to back and fought off two more.   
  
As Buffy transfixed the last Kaa Lore with her sword, she heard Giles cry, "Buffy, stop him!"   
  
She spun to see Etienne round on Rack, cowering behind empty storage units, and with a snarl of rage toss him across the room; then he pinned the warlock beneath one boot, and the point of his sword found Rack's neck. Rack screamed, and Etienne laughed unpleasantly.   
  
"So!" he snapped. "Now you are afraid, yes?" He drew back his sword and Rack screamed again.  
  
Buffy shot to his side and grabbed his arm. "Don't kill him!"  
  
"You do not wish him killed, Buffy? Is he not evil?" He seemed genuinely puzzled.   
  
"Well, yes; he is evil," she replied. "But nowadays we don't kill humans, if we can help it."  
  
"Get him off me!" Rack hissed desperately.   
  
Etienne kicked him. "Quiet, dog!"  
  
"Etienne," Buffy said, in a quiet voice. Spike's blue eyes met hers candidly. "We need Spike back now. He'll take care of Rack."   
  
"Very well, if you wish it, Buffy," he said, with a smile. He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "You miss him, eh?"  
  
"Well, yes, but that's not why," Buffy said, blushing a little.  
  
"I understand." He turned to Giles, and offered his hand; Giles clasped his warmly, and a bright bluish light flowed between them for a moment. "Now this one cannot touch you," he said. Giles smiled grimly and placed his foot on Rack's neck, directing his own swordpoint at the warlock's throat. He didn't like Rack.   
  
"Farewell, my friends, for now." Etienne stepped away and stood stock-still for a few moments.  
  
"Yeowch!" Spike said, clutching the back of his head.  
  
Quivering with relief, Buffy wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. "You okay?"  
  
"Couldn't be better, love." He shook himself, like a bird settling its feathers. Then he laughed, tossing the sword he still held from hand to hand. He said, "I can do this now."   
  
"Shall we deal with this - this creature at once?" Giles said. "I'm not fond of his company."  
  
"Ah, yes," Spike said. He looked at Rack with a most unsettling smile. "Like to corrupt little girls, don't you? Made you potent, didn't it? Made you powerful. Well, not anymore." He stretched out his hand and pressed it to Rack's heaving chest. Blue-white light shimmered down his arm and seemed to strike Rack, and ripple outwards briefly; then it disappeared abruptly.   
  
"No more magic for you. Ever." Rack lay on the floor stunned, his mouth opening and closing as if he were still searching for a spell that would work.   
  
"What about her?" Xander said. Amy was crouched against the wall, both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.   
  
"Her, too," Spike said grimly. He strode across the room and seized Amy by the wrist; as she struggled he said impatiently, "No one's going to hurt you, girl." The same light surged down his arm briefly, and he released her.   
  
"What did you do to me?" she whispered.   
  
"No more magic. Ever. No spell will work for you - you're just an ordinary girl again. Now both of you take off, and don't let us see you 'round here again."  
  
"Wow!" Xander said, leaning picturesquely on his sword and watching their disarmed adversaries scuttled off - in opposite directions. "I guess this means it's Miller time, right?"  
  
"Sounds like a plan," Clem said, and they turned and headed towards the van.  
  
"Not a bad plan, either," Giles had to admit.  
  
Spike put his arms around Buffy, still keeping a grip on his weapon.   
  
"You're not letting go of that sword anytime soon, are you?" she teased.   
  
"I feel just like I've been in a good fight, know what I mean?" he said.  
  
"Well, I guess you have, really," she began. Then her eyes met his glowing blue ones. "Oh. Um, yeah. Now that you mention it, I do know what you mean."  
  
He pulled her closer, right there in the street in front of everybody. Buffy gazed up at him, starry-eyed; she felt just like she'd been in a good fight, too. All warm and tingly. And hungry. And other things. "Let's go home, sweetheart," Spike said, and kissed her.  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"I cannot rest from travel: I will drink  
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy'd  
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those  
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when  
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades  
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;  
For always roaming with a hungry heart  
Much have I seen and known; cities of men  
And manners, climates, councils, governments,  
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;  
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,  
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.  
I am a part of all that I have met;  
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'  
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades  
For ever and for ever when I move."  
  
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 


	27. A Most Malignant Keep

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
NO SPOILERS - ALL INVENTION  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part 27. A Most Malignant Keep  
  
  
"Rupert!" Giles heard Spike's urgent voice in his head. He sat up groggily. "Wha -?" he said. It was pitch black in the living room; he had no idea what time it was.  
  
"Get up to Buffy's bedroom, now," the voice said.  
  
"What on earth -?"  
  
"Just do it!"  
  
Apparently some new catastrophe loomed. Resigned, he felt for his glasses, shuffled his feet into slippers, and carefully made his way up the stairs. He hesitated for a moment at the door to Buffy's room; then knocked and opened it.  
  
  
The successful raiding party had returned to the Summers house in pretty high spirits. The assault had gone well; Rack and Amy were neutralized for good, the hench-demons were disposed of, everyone had done their share, and no one was hurt. An enthusiastic Dawn and an apprehensive Jonathan met them at the door. Dawn wanted to hear all about it. "So where did that French guy go? He was pretty cool," Dawn said.  
  
Jerking his head, Spike said, "Back upstairs,"  
  
"Did he slice up all the demons?"  
  
"Everybody sliced, and also diced," Buffy said happily. "Actually, it WAS pretty cool."   
  
"Um, sorry about the tentacles," Willow said. "I should have checked them out better."  
  
"No big, Will; we came, we saw, we hacked. And stabbed," Xander reassured her, his arm around Anya. "Or, more correctly, we went, we saw, we hacked."  
  
"Well, yes; rather more hacking was involved than we expected," Giles felt quite pleased with himself, too; "but we won out eventually."  
  
"Can I go home now?" Jonathan said. He was definitely ready for a nice soothing bout with a classic computer game - maybe Doom - and an early night. And being in the same room with Spike still scared him, even if he was always holding hands with Buffy now. Jonathan kept shooting nervous little glances his way, which Spike encouraged by glowering when Buffy wasn't looking.  
  
"We'll get together again tomorrow to go over our plan in detail," Giles said. "If you need any magic supplies, bring them with you. We should all know our parts backwards and forwards on Tuesday night."  
  
"Well, I do have a magic bone," Jonathan said. "It helps me concentrate. I guess I'll bring that."  
  
"Hey, man, if you need a lift I'll drop you," Clem offered.  
  
Jonathan gulped. "Okay, sure, thanks," he said.  
  
  
  
Standing in the dark hallway, Giles opened the door to Buffy's room. The bedside lamp was switched on. Spike, clad only in jeans, held Buffy in his arms; she clung to him, wrapped in a blanket and wearing one of his black t-shirts, her face pale and shocked.  
  
"She's had a nasty dream, Rupes," Spike said tightly.  
  
Startled by the sight of his scarred torso, Giles said with dismay, "My God, man, what happened to you?"  
  
"Never mind that now," Spike said impatiently. "She had one of her Slayer dreams - tell Giles about it, love," he coaxed her.  
  
"It was the Hellmouth," she said starkly. "It was really dark, and it opened - the earth just cracked open. I could see flames inside, and lava, like a volcano on the Discovery Channel. And there were things - things coming out. They were all blackened, like they'd been burned all over. Barbecued." A shudder went over her, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Steaming and smoking."  
  
"Go on with the next bit, love," Spike said, stroking her hair. "Tell Giles."  
  
"Inside - Giles, I could see inside, where the burned things were coming from -" she gasped, and looked at him, her eyes huge. "I saw Willow, Giles! Inside the Hellmouth!"  
  
"Dear me!" Giles said. Then in what he hoped was a reassuring tone he continued, "Well, steady on; you know your prophetic dreams don't necessarily tell us literally what will happen."  
  
"Not a good portent however you slice it, though," Spike said grimly.  
  
"Was she doing anything? Did you see what happened then?"  
  
"She was just floating in the middle of the flames - she wasn't struggling or anything, but she didn't look normal, either. She was - sort of dazed, like when she had the accident. And we were all there, fighting the burned things, but I didn't see what happened to anyone else," she said.  
  
There was a troubled silence. Buffy pressed her face against Spike's shoulder, and almost unconsciously he rocked her a little, his frost-white head tenderly bent over hers, his expression set. Giles found it quite touching, if one ignored the fantastic elements - or even if one didn't. Perhaps he was getting used to it. Or perhaps he was growing sentimental in his old age.  
  
"Any ideas, Rupes?" Spike said.  
  
"Well; it's certainly not what one would wish for." Giles thought for a minute. "Are you certain Willow has no access to magic?"  
  
"Positive. I did her just like I did Rack. She can't do her own magic, and magic won't work for her. But..."  
  
"But?"  
  
Reluctantly, Spike said, "They don't know that, below, Rupert; they haven't had any contact with her since we closed the channel Warren opened. And her magic, her unique, personal magic was very powerful - and attractive."  
  
"So you think -?"  
  
"Could be something's coming for her, something that knows who she is. Looking for a taste of that special redhead flavor." He looked stern. "She invited this, really, mucking about like she did. Sneaking around, seeing what she could get away with, not playing by the rules. Demons and devils don't care for that, you know. They'll want payback. And they're greedy."  
  
Giles sighed. He felt weighted down with fatigue, sitting there in rumpled pajamas with his hair swirled into a bird's nest from sleep. And his sword arm ached. "I blame myself, really," he said pensively. "I should have seen what she was getting into."  
  
"No argument here, mate," Spike's voice was sharp. "I blame you, too. She was just a starry-eyed kid when she got into it. YOU knew what magic is."  
  
"It wasn't really my job - " Giles began. Then he slumped. "You're right, of course."  
  
Buffy spoke up for both her friends. "When - when she first started, she was just trying to help me."  
  
"Re-souling the Poof; I know, love, but she got a taste for the power pretty quick."  
  
"Quit calling him that! And don't make it sound like getting your shoes fixed, or something!" Buffy said, annoyed.  
  
With his patented irritating smirk, Spike pointed out, "Hey, I've known him a lot longer than you have, and -"  
  
"Yes, well, returning to the point," Giles interrupted what looked like a promising altercation, "Obviously, we've got to keep a careful watch on Willow. And I don't think we need let her know what we fear, not yet anyway."  
  
He rose. "Buffy, you look tired," he said. "You two should - that is, why don't you two, ah -" he stammered a bit under Spike's ironic eye. "Well, anyway, I'll - I'll be going back to bed. We can go over this some more tomorrow."  
  
  
Stealthily Willow moved down the dark hallway. Holding her breath, she slipped behind the open bathroom door as Giles passed. His words echoed in her mind. "... Keep a careful watch on Willow... don't let her know what we fear..."  
  
So that's what they thought of her.  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"DOWN in the mud I lay,  
Tired out by my long day  
Of five damned days and nights,  
Five sleepless days and nights,...  
Dream-snatched, and set me where  
The dungeon of Despair  
Looms over Desolate Sea,  
Frowning and threatening me  
With aspect high and steep-  
A most malignant keep.  
My foes that lay within  
Shouted and made a din,  
Hooted and grinned and cried:  
'Today we've killed your pride;  
Today your ardour ends.  
We've murdered all your friends;  
We've undermined by stealth  
Your happiness and your health.  
We've taken away your hope;  
Now you may droop and mope  
To misery and to Death.'"  
  
Robert Graves  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
A/N: Thanks for all the feedback, guys! I promise there's an end in sight; after all, it's nearly Tuesday.  
  
Also, the Emerson "astonishment of life" quote is from "Montaigne, or, The Skeptic." You can find the full text online with a Google search (and well worth it). 


	28. What's More Than Death

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.   
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
NO SPOILERS - ALL INVENTION  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN   
  
  
Part 28. What's More Than Death   
  
  
Dawn was quiet on her way downstairs, not wanting to wake Buffy this early in the morning. Or Spike. She wanted Spike to stay so much; it was awful when he was gone. She never knew what a big part of her life he was until he wasn't there anymore; she'd bet Buffy felt the same way. Well, it sure looked like it, didn't it?  
  
Spike was her friend, too, even without Buffy. One time Janice saw Dawn with Spike at the Expresso Pump and she was so jealous.   
  
"WHO is that deadly guy?" she'd squealed, "He is SO cool." Nobody ever said that about Xander.  
  
"Just a friend," Dawn said offhandedly. But it was exhilarating, especially when she saw Spike look right past Janice like she wasn't there. Because Janice liked to think she was pretty hot.   
  
Dawn opened the refrigerator and took out some orange juice, trying to still the butterflies in her stomach. She really, really wanted Spike to stay. If they all survived tomorrow night. If they all came home.   
  
  
  
Xander was worried. Anya knew this because he looked at her with dark, anxious eyes and showered her with inane jokes. But there was no point in worrying. Either they would succeed, and save the world again, with the concomitant celebratory feelings, or they would fail, and all die or be enslaved by hell-beasts. After a restless night, she tried to explain it to him over breakfast.   
  
"I'll just be a conduit," she told him. "I know how to handle magical energies; we'll just create a sort of white-magic dome over the Hellmouth, and hold it until the arcane hour has passed."  
  
"Are you sure you con-du-it? Get it? Ha, ha," he said desperately, his eyes deep and shadowed. "I mean, how will you know when the hour has, like, passed? Will an owl hoot or something?"  
  
"Spike will know," she said confidently. Which did not reassure Xander.  
  
Anya had faith in Spike. He knew what he was doing. It amazed her that the others - the humans - couldn't really see the scope of his powers, or the strikingly exact match with the Slayer's needs. It was so obviously NOT a coincidence.   
  
  
  
Xander just couldn't do it anymore. Lately he fell asleep every night and woke up every morning with dread gnawing at his insides. He'd just begun to get a tenuous grip on his life again, and now it was all spinning out of control. They were the Scoobies, evil-fighters extrordinaire. The Slayerettes. They'd cut their teeth on world saving. Yet, incomprehensibly, they'd fallen apart, and had to rely on a reformed vampire (or whatever the heck Spike was now) to do their job. He couldn't trust himself; he couldn't trust Willow. Could he even trust Buffy, really? Especially about a guy; love tended to blind the Slayer.   
  
He was terribly afraid for Anya - and for himself, if something should happen to her. "Have a little faith in the woman, Newt-boy," Spike had said. "Anya knows what she's doing." Which were so not the words Xander wanted to hear from him. And he wasn't crazy about the constant newt references, either.   
  
  
  
Approaching Buffy's front door, Jonathan felt slightly nauseous. He had a bag with him containing assorted herbs, some enchanted sand, and his magic bone; he hoped that would be enough. His hand shook as he rang the bell, but he didn't hesitate.   
  
The door opened. "Hey!" It was Dawn, the Slayer's kid sister. She let him in with a smile, like he were one of the gang; that was sort of reassuring. On the other hand, the first thing that met his eye as he entered the living room was Spike, sunk bonelessly in his usual armchair and sipping what was probably blood from a mug. True, the mug had a 'Cowboy Bebop' logo on it, but that didn't help quell Jonathan's jitters much.   
  
"Um, hi," Jonathan said nervously. "I'm back. For whatever."  
  
Spike looked at him, without menace this time, and with even a hint of respect in his eyes. "So, you're all ready, then?" he asked.   
  
Steadfastly, Jonathan replied, "Ready as I'll ever be."  
  
"Good man," Spike said.  
  
  
  
Why couldn't they save the world without making such a big deal out of it? Willow thought. She'd come downstairs to find everyone else already up; apparently, nobody thought of calling her. Or maybe they were just being considerate; nearly causing an apocalypse WAS pretty tiring work. She moved among them wearing her helpful, eager-to-please face, waiting to be assigned her particular task.  
  
Spike sat in his armchair with Buffy perched beside him, her arm around his shoulders and his around her waist. They were nearly always touching each other now; Willow honestly tried not to be creeped out - really - but it gave her a strange prickly feeling. Dawn sat on the floor at their feet, making her allegiance plain.   
  
"So the four of us will reinforce the seal over the Hellmouth," Spike said, "until the time's up, and Buffy and her faithful pup -"  
  
"Spike!" Buffy protested half-heartedly, though Xander didn't even seem to hear, being wrapped up in Anya. Good thing that relationship worked out.  
  
"- will fend off any nasties that show. And Clem will scout 'round and let us know if anything's up."  
  
"Will," Buffy said earnestly, "I need you to stay here with Dawn."   
  
"Sure, Buffy," she answered, "whatever I can do."  
  
Well, that should be fun; a night of tension with a teenager who couldn't stand her. Anything to help.  
  
  
  
They were as prepared as they could be, Giles thought, surveying the room. As world-savers go, they were an uneven lot. Spike explained the plan, his face entirely serious. Somehow he'd taken charge, and Giles, surprising himself, was ready to have it so.  
  
"So the most important thing is concentration," Spike told his assembled company of magic users. "Giles and I will work the spell; just keep your minds open and channel the strands of magic as they move through you. Ease the way, don't block it. Don't be distracted; nothing will hurt you if we keep it strong. And remember, you've got the Slayer watching your back."  
  
"We should try it out briefly," Giles suggested, "using minimal power, so everyone will know what to expect."   
  
"Right, good one, Rupert," Spike said.   
  
They positioned themselves in the living room. "Ready?" Spike said. At Giles nod, he touched his outstretched hand. Then Giles touched Anya, who touched Jonathan, who swallowed and touched Spike's other hand. Thin strands of white light shot round and round, through their bodies, then upwards, and wove themselves together like the fibers of a basket ending as a small, floating dome-shape, bumping slightly against the ceiling.   
  
Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Xander stood back, glittering filaments reflected in their wide eyes.   
  
"Wow!" Dawn breathed.   
  
"It's beautiful," Willow murmured wistfully, "It's so beautiful."  
  
  
  
"May I say that was fabulous?" Buffy said, wreathing her arms around Spike and resting her head on his shoulder as they stood on the back porch. It was another beautiful spring twilight. Since her job tomorrow would be pretty much the usual slayage, she'd been free to indulge herself in watching Spike running the show, settling arcane details with Giles, organizing his forces, and he had amazed her.   
  
"You dazzled me, you know that?" she told him. It delighted her that he was embarrassed by her praise, even kicking his shoes uneasily like a little boy.   
  
"I didn't do that much, love," he said, "And don't worry - tomorrow I'll look out for Red. And even Newt-boy."   
  
That made her giggle. "You couldn't really do that, could you? You know - transmogri-thingy?"   
  
"I could, just as a lesson," he said thoughtfully. "I'd turn him right back, though. Not like we need a newt, is it?"  
  
Devastation, doom, peril - whatever came tomorrow, Buffy couldn't keep a smile from her lips. She just couldn't help it. She'd never known what 'a song in the heart' meant before, but now she understood; now there was always a wordless melody humming away in her breast. And the song was all about Spike.   
  
  
  
Spike sat on the back porch smoking in the darkness, going over every detail of tomorrow's plan in his mind. Everyone else had gone to bed. This had to go off without any hitches; danger was a Slayer's life, but his purpose was to minimize the danger, and he dedicated himself to that purpose. Something was bound to get bollixed up, and now he had to make sure it was something small.   
  
Flickering around his consciousness always as he pondered was a spectral vision of Buffy, like a golden flame, powerful, lethal, and passionate. He could feel her, taste her, smell her everywhere.  
  
"Hello, love," he said.   
  
"You gonna stay here all night?" Buffy said, sitting down behind him and leaning against his back, her chin on his shoulder.   
  
"Just thinkin' things through."  
  
"Worried?"  
  
"No, not really."  
  
"Then come inside," she said, kissing the back of his neck. "You should relax."   
  
He closed his eyes, and sighed blissfully. "You know, love, when you do that, relaxing isn't my first notion."  
  
But in the back of his mind he was still thinking - the Watchers, the Shamans, the Trials meant nothing. Tomorrow was the real test. And the stakes were life and death.   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"BY Merlin's Rock, where Dagonet the fool  
Was given through many a dying afternoon  
To sit and meditate on human ways  
And ways divine, Gawaine and Bedivere  
Stood silent, gazing down on Camelot.  
The two had risen and were going home:  
"It hits me sore, Gawaine," said Bedivere,  
"To think on all the tumult and affliction  
Down there, and all the noise and preparation  
That hums of coming death, and, if my fears  
Be born of reason, of what's more than death."  
  
Edwin Arlington Robinson 


	29. The Scorpion

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys.  
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.  
NO SPOILERS  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 29. The Scorpion  
  
  
The day looked like Willow felt; it was gray, overcast and wind-swept. Sunny California wasn't putting up much of a show. She was having a late breakfast by herself in the kitchen; everything tasted like cardboard, but she supposed she should eat. She'd need her strength tonight. Well, they all would. She stood looking aimlessly out the window, and munched a bowl of cold cereal.   
  
She didn't think about Tara. Ever. She schooled her mind not to see her in the kitchen, in the living room, in the bedroom, not to hear her voice, not to feel her touch, her soft, soft lips, her warmth, her power - even in dreams. She looked on the scenes of their love with flat indifference, no fear, no nostalgia, no pain. There would be no more pain. She couldn't endure it - she wouldn't. Just blankness.   
  
There was a footstep in the hallway. Oh, fine. The last person she wanted to see. She took her bowl to the sink and started to rinse it.  
  
"Got a minute, Red?" Spike said. She turned. He was looking at her with that new air of gravity and responsibility she found pretty hard to take. He wasn't even alive, for heaven's sake. Why should he be responsible?   
  
"Sure," she said colorlessly. She'd meant to try for perky, but he probably wouldn't be fooled anyway. Dead, but perceptive.   
  
"There's something you should know about tonight," he said.   
  
"I think I've got a pretty good idea. Big scary apocalypse again, right?"  
  
"There's a bit more to it than that -"  
  
"Not for me, though. I'll be babysitting." She tried to smile. "I know that unlike you, I can't be trusted with the big stuff anymore."  
  
He face grew rather stern. She didn't like that, either. "First, looking out for Dawn isn't exactly a small thing -"  
  
"I forgot. She's still the key, right? The teenage Key. Is that what you were going to tell me?"  
  
"And second, this isn't about me, it's about -"  
  
"Funny, I thought pretty much everything is about you nowadays," she interrupted, abruptly giving way to her vexation. "You and Buffy."  
  
"What's about me and Buffy?" he asked, suddenly quiet, watching her.  
  
"You're both heroes now, aren't you? Companion heroes. Side by side." She felt her face crumple, and turned away from him. "I could've done that, you know!"  
  
"Why can't you do it now? You don't have to bend steel bars to be a hero. Do what you can do."   
  
Furiously, she said, "I can't do anything without her! I'm nothing!" Why did he flinch when she said that? How could he possibly understand how she felt?  
  
"You're not bloody nothing," he answered forcefully. "You're a strong, healthy, beautiful girl; you've got a brilliant mind; you're just starting your life. And you were loved by one of the best people I've ever known, and I've known a century's worth. What the hell more d'you want? What more d'you expect?"  
  
"She's gone," she insisted in a hollow voice. "They took her away from me and she's gone. I'm as good as dead without her." She squeezed her eyes shut. "You don't know what it's like."  
  
"Don't I, Red?" He contemplated her for a moment. "I don't understand your idea of love," he said finally, with some bitterness. "Someone you love dies, and you rush right out and do exactly what she'd hate the most? Is that the human thing to do? How does that honor her?"  
  
"It was the pain!" she almost shouted. "I couldn't take the pain!"  
  
"So you betray every dream she had for you, everything she wanted you to be. You think it's supposed to be just daisies and happy times? If you can't take the pain, how can you say you loved her? You KNOW there's life after death - look who you're talking to. How d'you think she'd feel seeing you right now?"  
  
"Don't you think I've tried to find out? Don't you think I'd bring her back if I could?"  
  
"Bring her back?" he said sharply. "What makes you think she'd want to come back?"   
  
That stopped her. She gripped the edge of the counter. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she whispered desperately, and made for the door. Hoping it wasn't overcast enough for him to follow her outdoors, she flung herself into a lawn chair, hugging her knees and forcing down tears.   
  
  
  
"Bugger!" Spike said to himself. He'd screwed that up royally. Sometimes he thought this soul-having lark wasn't exactly as advertised. He hadn't meant to say all that - hadn't meant to bring up Tara at all, at least not now. And he never even warned her about Buffy's dream. Bugger.   
  
He poured himself a cup of black coffee and wondered if he should go after her. He could see her clearly through the kitchen window. It looked like she was crying; perhaps he should just leave her alone to compose herself. But she looked so miserable; maybe he should do something.  
  
"Did you tell her?" Buffy said from behind him in the kitchen doorway. He'd known she was there, of course.   
  
He looked at her apologetically. "Well, uh, no. She took umbrage."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"She got pissed, love," he sighed. "Still a bit sensitive. Maybe we should leave it until -"  
  
"Who's that she's talking to?"  
  
"Who -?" He spun around to look out the window again.   
  
Willow stood in the middle of the yard seemingly conversing with a tall, odd-looking man. He was weirdly thin, dressed almost in rags, with lank black elflocks hanging in his face (why didn't these guys ever wash their hair?), and a battered, shapeless fedora pulled down over his ears. A grayish haze seemed to hang around him. He gestured with spidery hands as he spoke to her, and as he moved his head Spike saw his eyes. Black, demon eyes.  
  
"Not just who, love; WHAT," he said, heading for the door, pausing only for a brief sun-protection spell. Buffy was right behind him.  
  
They approached cautiously. Willow was within arm's reach of the creature, and she could be used as a hostage. It hissed and mumbled at her, evidently able to speak but not too well.  
  
"Who's your friend, Red?" Spike said casually.   
  
"I don't know," she said, startled as they came up behind her. "He just suddenly showed up."  
  
"Don't forget... sssss... you... are wanted... tonight," the demon wheezed, backing away.  
  
"He keeps saying that," Willow said warily.   
  
"Okay," Buffy said brightly to the demon, "How about you move on, so I don't have to kick your butt? 'Cause these are new shoes."  
  
It snarled, and made a rush towards Willow, flashing its long arms out for her; she screamed and stumbled back, with a hand to her cheek.   
  
"Look out for its claws!" Spike said. With a deep-throated growl, he vamped out, seizing the creature from behind and tossing it overhead across the yard away from the girls. Buffy dashed after it, landing a kick to the head and several blows to the body. The demon struck back, confused but forceful, knocking Buffy off her feet, and then it scrambled towards the bushes. They heard it crashing off.   
  
Spike helped Buffy up. "All right, love?" he said. "Looks like he got away."  
  
"Sure," she said. "He was pretty icky; I'd just as soon not have bits of him scattered around Mom's rose bushes anyway." Her hand still clasped in Spike's, she turned to Willow, saying with concern, "Did he get you?"  
  
"I don't know," Willow said, "I think I felt a scratch, though. And ugh - what's that smell?"  
  
"Let's see," Buffy said, moving Willow's hand from her face. Over the pale cheekbone was a laceration, the edges darkening unpleasantly, and underneath strange, streaky bruises seemed to be developing. Spike caught his breath, and Buffy gasped.   
  
"Oh, Will, that looks pretty bad -" she began, touching the wound gently, when all at once a faint ripple of blue-white light surged from the tip of her finger and washed over the side of Willow's face. The marks vanished as if they had never been there. Buffy stared for a moment. "Uh, I guess it's okay now, actually," she said.   
  
"It feels okay," Willow said shakily; apparently she hadn't seen or felt anything odd. "You know, I still want to go inside and wash, though. I mean, eewww."  
  
"We'd better make sure he's gone, love," Spike said.  
  
"Sure, right; then we'll come right in. You okay to get upstairs?"  
  
Willow nodded, and went back towards the house. She hadn't looked at Spike the whole time.  
  
Spike watched until she was out of earshot. Then he met Buffy's bewildered eyes.  
  
"What the heck WAS that?" she said, "Did you do that?"  
  
  
"Matter of fact, I didn't," he replied thoughtfully. They looked at each other for a moment, neither one noticing that they were still hand in hand.   
  
Then Buffy wrinkled her nose. "And what IS that smell?"   
  
"Brimstone," Spike said grimly.  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"Is it strange  
That this poor wretch should pride him in his woe?  
Take pleasure in his abjectness, and hug  
The scorpion that consumes him? Is it strange  
That, placed on a conspicuous throne of thorns,  
Grasping an iron sceptre, and immured  
Within a splendid prison whose stern bounds  
Shut him from all that's good or dear on earth,  
His soul asserts not its humanity?"  
  
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Queen Mab 


	30. Wish It Done

Title: RETURN  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Like I could create these guys  
All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.  
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: A Spike-centric alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating many (though not all) recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.  
NO SPOILERS  
-------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 30. Wish It Done  
  
  
Giles knew Buffy and Spike had slipped upstairs together. If anyone asked, he intended to say they probably had a lot to talk about, though he couldn't imagine anyone being fool enough to believe it. Even Xander.   
  
Buffy and Spike were actually the only ones enjoying this day. Giles had to admit he was edgy. A Watcher knows no fear, or at least not much; it was either prevail or die - along with the rest of the world. No matter how many times this particular situation arose, he thought sardonically, somehow it never grew monotonous. He prowled a bit through the living room, dining room, and kitchen; snatched an occasional few minutes of banal news programs on television, and made himself innumerable cups of tea, which he would half-finish and allow to grow cold, forcing him to start all over again. The day dragged on; he eventually spent most of it turning over pages in stacks of reference books he'd brought with him into the kitchen.  
  
Willow sat engrossed in her computer, looking tense, obsessively searching the web for anything that might prove pertinent, so far with thin results. She was taciturn on the subject of the morning's demon encounter, saying only that the creature appeared deranged and that Buffy and Spike had dealt with it.  
  
Dawn went to school as usual. There was no reason to believe she was in any unusual danger, and there was no point in having her hanging around the house doing nothing and driving herself (and everyone else) into a frenzy of nerves. And without her knowing it, Spike had set Clem and some of his mates to watch over her throughout the day.  
  
  
  
By unspoken mutual consent, neither Spike nor Buffy mentioned their odd experience to anyone else. After coming indoors they simply stood in the hallway lost in each other for a while, looking, touching lightly, barely speaking, their need for one another suddenly awakened by the brief battle.  
  
Buffy whispered, "Come on," and led Spike upstairs to her bedroom. Then they were in each other's arms, kissing hungrily but without frenzy this time. He pressed his hands up her back, feeling her warmth and power, her heart beating against him. Her hot, strong little hands moved under his shirt, exploring his chest and ribs and back so tenderly, leaving a trail of singing heat; she pressed the length of her body against him, and drew him towards the bed.  
  
Shedding every scrap of clothing, they kissed again slowly, over and over, and made love even more slowly, not silent but wordless. Wherever his hands roved her body - over that thudding, amazing little heart, in, around, underneath - however thrilling her response, he couldn't take his eyes from hers. Even when she drew him in and he began to move over her he couldn't resist those luminous, tawny eyes until the very last seconds, when he was torn away; then he almost frantically sought her gaze again, his hands cupping her face.  
  
Afterwards they lay there contentedly entwined, not talking, not sleeping, not thinking; just feeling each other's bodies, his warmed and hers cooled by contact with the other. As the afternoon slipped away and twilight began to fall, they at least were at peace - and gathering strength.  
  
  
  
"So, any questions?" Spike asked the assembled Scoobies and other assorted world-savers. The day had seemed to last forever, one way or another, but at around six-thirty the others finally began to arrive. First Jonathan, still nervous but clearly resolved, his bag of magical props in hand. Then Anya and Xander, she serene (and once more beautifully put together) and he nervous and jokey. Clem came by after Dawn got home from school, to consult with Spike on final details of his patrol. They all sat around the dining room table.  
  
Jonathan raised his hand, a bit tentatively. "What if it goes wrong? What if we fail?" he asked bluntly.  
  
"Then thousands of hell-creatures emerge, we all die, and Sunnydale literally becomes Hell on earth," Spike said. "So we don't fail."  
  
"If any creepies do climb out of - well, Hell - can we really stop them?" Buffy said. "Keep them from escaping into the wild?"  
  
"If the Hellmouth does open, even a crack, we don't know what might emerge - besides a miscellany of beasts, there might be poisonous fumes, lightening, flames - there's no way to tell, unfortunately," Giles answered. "So we have to be prepared to think on our feet and make use of what weapons we have. And, if at all possible, keep it from opening."  
  
"Poisonous fumes?" said Jonathan. "I've got allergies."  
  
"Don't worry," Buffy reassured him, "last time it cracked open, there was just a lot of smoke and stuff, no poison."  
  
"And a big scary giant demon that almost killed us all, of course," Willow said helpfully.  
  
  
  
Willow and Dawn stood in the doorway and watched them drive away. Before they left, Dawn hugged Buffy tight for a minute. "Take care," she whispered.  
  
"I will," Buffy promised. "And I'll take care of everyone else, too. I promise." She pushed Dawn's silky hair off her face. "See you soon, okay?"  
  
Spike found a moment to speak to Willow alone.  
  
"Listen, Red; I tried to say before - well, something might be after you personally tonight. One or more of your former playmates."  
  
There was mortification and a hint of panic in her eyes. "Does - does everyone know about them? Does Buffy know what I did?"  
  
"Only Rupert and I know. The lot of them wouldn't understand it, anyhow. But look, you'll be safe. We warded the house - nothing can get in tonight. So even if you see some stray lurkers outside, like that geezer this morning, don't worry. Nothing they can do, alright?"  
  
She couldn't meet his eyes. He was saying the whole thing was her fault, all of it. She knew that. "Thanks," she said.  
  
  
  
As it turned out, Jonathan solved their first problem. They arrived in the park, site of Warren's Hellmouth venture, well before sundown, but locating the exact spot where the barrier between this world and The Other Side was now weakest wasn't so easy. Unfortunately, the ever-efficient Sunnydale Parks Department, working over and above the call of duty as usual, had scrubbed Warren's pentagram from the grass and removed the debris that was all that was left of his diabolical machine (whatever it was). But Jonathan led them to the exact spot without hesitation.  
  
"That's one thing I'm good at," he said modestly, "locating spells."  
  
"Go to it, mate," Spike said approvingly. He lit a cigarette and watched as Jonathan tossed a handful of sparkling enchanted sand in the air, and then held his magic bone out before him like a dowsing rod.  
  
"It's definitely over here," he said confidently.  
  
"Right, then," Spike said, with barely a leer. "Follow the bone."  
  
They trailed after Jonathan as he led them across the park. The darkening sky was still overcast, and gusts of wind tossed the well-kept trees. A few flashes of distant lightning flickered, and there were far-off rumblings as well.  
  
"Here we are," he said when they reached a barren-looking area.  
  
"Uh, guys," Xander said, "I think this is definitely the spot, all right."  
  
Buffy gave him an inquiring look. "Over there," he said, pointing the large axe he carried at a nearby swing set. The metal a-frame was canted over at a surrealistic angle, and the swings rested on the ground in a tangle of chains.  
  
"Unless they've got some really overweight kids this year," Xander added.  
  
As they watched, the feet of the swing set melted and sunk into themselves, and the structure crumpled sideways with a metallic screech. Thin smoke rose from the dehydrated grass surrounding it.  
  
It was growing darker by the minute, and a chilly wind gusted about them. But the ground beneath their feet was hot.  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
"And a magic voice and verse  
Hath baptiz'd thee with a curse;  
And a spirit of the air  
Hath begirt thee with a snare;  
In the wind there is a voice  
Shall forbid thee to rejoice;  
And to thee shall night deny  
All the quiet of her sky;  
And the day shall have a sun,  
Which shall make thee wish it done."  
  
Lord Byron, Manfred 


	31. Future Burning

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: An alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
NO MORE SPOILERS  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 31. Future Burning  
  
  
"Xander," Anya said softly, "We have to talk."  
  
"Do you think this is the time, Ahn?" Xander said. He was escorting her to her position for the Hellmouth sealing spell. She stopped to face him.   
  
"Yes, right now," she replied, with a fleeting smile. "I just want to tell you this one thing - if I die, I want you to marry a nice girl and live a long, fulfilling life."   
  
"Ahn!" Xander said, shocked. "Don't say that! Don't even think it!"  
  
She put her arms around him, and looked at him with utter sincerity. "I want you to know. After all, anything could happen." At his look of real distress, she stroked his cheek tenderly. "When we were here before - when Spike said I had to make a choice - that's what I thought about. I thought I was going to die, and I knew I just want you to be happy, even without me."  
  
He hugged her tightly to him. "Oh, God, Ahn, how could I be happy without you?"  
  
"But you have to," she insisted. "Promise me you'll try."  
  
"Listen to me," he said forcefully, his dark eyes very serious. "Nothing's going to happen. Everything will be fine. We'll all come through this together, okay?"  
  
They were interrupted by Spike's sarcastic voice sounding in their heads. "Can we save the snog-fest for later, people?" he said. "We're on a deadline here."  
  
"Hey!" Xander said, startled. "Keep out of my brain!"  
  
"Believe me, I would, Lizard-Boy, if you'd keep your so-called mind on the job, instead of copping a feel. Now hop it."  
  
"Geez, it's Squadron Leader Spike," Xander fumed, shouldering his axe, "And I thought he was annoying when he was irresponsible."   
  
"I heard that!"  
  
  
  
The heat from below helped them determine the size of the area they needed to cover. Spike, Giles, Anya and Jonathan moved to take their separate places at the corners of a square about twenty-five feet long on each side. Occasional lightning played in the distance, and low-pitched rumblings shook the ground.   
  
As utter blackness fell, Spike waited in silence until all the attention of each magic user was on him, and began the spell. He did it simply, without incantations or gestures; he just held out his arms, and white-glowing tendrils, moving almost with sentience, shot from his outstretched hands, touching Giles on his right and Jonathan on his left. The light flowed through them and on to Anya, passing through her body and swirling upwards in the intricate, shimmering weave they had seen before, but much larger. Thin, radiant vines patterned themselves into a flattened hemisphere, covering the entire area. It was beautiful.   
  
A gentle murmur of voices spoke to each individual mind inside the dome - Spike's voice, Giles voice, and innumerable others mixed together, unidentifiable. "Quiet. Open to it," they whispered. "Guide it. Don't resist." All extraneous sounds seemed to evaporate away, and peace fell within the fragile structure. They felt sheltered, though beyond the perimeter they could still see faint lightening flickers, and hear a distant booming. Time seemed to pass away and with it all sense of strain or urgency. The skillfully harnessed white magic power pouring through them brought a feeling of calm and strength, without any sense of peril.  
  
Buffy and Xander stood outside the swirling magical bubble on either side, heavily armed with crossbows, axes, and swords, their eyes scanning the park for interlopers. They too saw the lightening and heard the thunder, but to Buffy's ears the storm - if that's what it was - seemed to be moving closer. The heat beneath their feet grew stronger, too. Buffy was uneasy. She knew Clem and the boys were patrolling but it seemed unlikely they could take care of every evil creature attracted to the spot. Spike said the Hell-beasts would have gobbled Rack right up; could it be even the usual cast of baddies were frightened of the Hellmouth opening? She hadn't seen any vamps or demons, but her spider-sense was definitely tingling. If they were there, they were hiding - but why? Why not just attack the spellcasters? What were they waiting for?   
  
It was pitch black now except for the light given off by the filigree dome. It was overcast, and not a star could be seen in the sky, and the night of course was moonless. The hollow booming was louder now, and Buffy suddenly realized that it wasn't all thunder - some of that unnerving sound was coming from below them.  
  
"Xander!" she called, "Careful! Might be a quake!"  
  
"Right-oh! Just what we needed!" he answered cheerfully, waving his axe. He looked much more confident; there was something to be said for action over anticipation, Buffy supposed. '"Right-oh"?'  
  
"Otherwise - looking good!"  
  
"Yeah, now if we can only keep -" He was cut off by a huge, deafening clap of thunder right over their heads; at the same time, the ground bucked under them, with a loud cracking noise. Xander was knocked off his feet, but quickly recovered himself - he was a native Californian, after all.  
  
Buffy stood nearest to Jonathan, and through the flickering wall of the enclosure she saw him stagger slightly; but he kept himself upright. He was a native Californian, too. She could barely see the others, though Spike's white head gleamed on the other side. With the tremor the diaphanous structure rippled but didn't fade. The soil inside the center of the circle was smoking and steaming, and the very earth glowed red with heat; but though the ground shook and heaved upwards, the seal held. As long as it was intact, nothing could escape it, no matter what happened.  
  
"Xand!" Buffy yelled over the noise. He waved to signal that he was okay - and then his face changed. He looked past her, his eyes widening. "Bogeys at six o'clock, Buff!" he called, apparently in some R.A.F. fantasy all his own. Buffy spun around.   
  
About two dozen black-robed figures emerged from the edge of the woods and swept in their direction. Despite the dark and the distance, Buffy could just make out their faces - all vampires. Aha! She thought, I knew they were here somewhere! The vampire cultists stopped abruptly and arranged themselves in a line as one stepped forward and raised his hands, beginning to chant. That couldn't be good. Buffy charged towards them, stake in hand, with Xander close behind her quick-firing crossbow bolts.   
  
He dusted three before she even reached them and a fourth as she tackled the head vamp with a vigorous kick to the breastbone. The leader screamed some final unintelligible words just before she thrust her stake through his heart. Buffy stared in puzzled disgust as those remaining un-dusted fell to the ground facing the Hellmouth and prostrated themselves, instead of fighting back. The ground again shook jarringly under her feet, and she heard a shrieking, grinding crash behind her. Almost unwillingly, she turned and looked back.  
  
Throbbing, resonant roars sounded from deep under the earth. At first Buffy hardly understood what she was seeing as the glittering magical tracery of the barrier was suddenly lit scarlet from below. Great flames shot up in the center.   
  
The Hellmouth opened.   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
"Come, come, come!  
Leave the bed, low, cold, and red,  
Strewed beneath a nation dead;  
Leave the hatred, as in ashes  
Fire is left for future burning;  
It will burst in bloodier flashes  
When ye stir it, soon returning;  
Leave the self-contempt implanted  
In young spirits, sense-enchanted,  
Misery's yet unkindled fuel;  
Leave Hell's secrets half unchanted  
To the maniac dreamer; cruel  
More than ye can be with hate  
Is he with fear.  
Come, come, come!  
We are steaming up from Hell's wide gate  
And we burden the blasts of the atmosphere,  
But vainly we toil till ye come here."  
  
Shelley, Prometheus Unbound 


	32. Soldiers

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: An alternative ending (which you can bet will never happen) for Ep. 22 of this season, incorporating recent spoilers. The end of BtVS, and the beginning of The Spike Show.   
NO MORE SPOILERS  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 32. Soldiers  
  
  
"Willow," Dawn said, "Can I talk to you?"  
  
Willow stopped pacing and looked blankly at the tense little face before her. "Can't it wait 'til after they get back, Dawnie?" she said. She remembered when Dawn wanted to talk to her about anything and everything. Now it would be Spike, she supposed. Maybe she should make an effort but she was just too tired.  
  
"Yes, but it's about that," Dawn replied, "What's happening. Couldn't it go - you know, wrong?"   
  
"Dawn, nothing will go wrong," Willow said; she was a little shocked to hear the teenager sound so anxious. "Spike and Buffy and Giles are doing everything that can be done, I'm sure." She WAS sure. There was certainly nothing she could do. Her internet research had come up with little or nothing useful.   
  
"Do we have to just sit here? Can't we like look stuff up in books or something?"  
  
"They don't need us, Dawnie," Willow folded her arms across her chest with finality, and looked away. "We just have to wait."  
  
"That's not good enough! They're all out there together and if something bad happens - we should try to help them, and keep trying until they come home!" Dawn said, her voice rising. "You always used to help!"  
  
"That was when I could do something," Willow murmured, half to herself.  
  
  
  
Late that afternoon, the demon patrol met at Ripley's Bar. Clem anxiously shepherded them to one tree-sheltered corner of the deserted parking lot (it was sort of early for Ripley's, and besides the demon patrons knew something was up), where Spike gave them a final pep talk sitting on the hood of Clem's battered but much loved pale blue pickup. First he deliberately lit a cigarette, and waited until he had their full attention.  
  
When all eyes were on him, Spike began in a clear, carrying voice; "No one wants the Hellmouth open. Hell-beasts'll gobble us up as soon as anyone else, you and your families, too, and if any cheap witch doctor or doomsday wanker tries to tell you different, they're bloody lying. So we've got to work together with the humans to stop it."   
  
There was a murmur of approval. As he listened, Clem proudly surveyed the fighters he'd assembled. The demon troops included that nice kid Jeff, a black-horned Merrin demon he'd met at the wedding-that-wasn't, and his two burly brothers, Marvin and Al; two Fyarls, whom Spike had apparently enthralled with a few words in their own language; three willowy Amazonian Zantip demon sisters,, Ezzi, Mezzi, and Zevra, all with orange eyes that flashed alarmingly, ebony skin, and manes of white hair (maybe that was why they liked Spike so much - or maybe not); and Eddie, the bouncer at the Red Sunset Club where a lot of the gang hung out. Eddie was a really good guy and would do anything for Spike since he'd rescued Eddie's daughter from the Initiative; he was a brawny, green-skinned Savra.  
  
"Right," Spike continued briskly, "You lot split up into four teams - partner of your choice - and patrol the streets 'round the park, and from the park to the Slayer's house, 'til midnight, when the threat's over. Nobody goes near the park or the house. Then after we'll meet up near the Hellmouth. Clem will coordinate. Questions?"  
  
"Who is the enemy?" Ezzi asked, leaning on her spear. "Who can we kill?"  
  
Spike exhaled a plume of smoke with panache. "Various brown-robe types, sniffing out the dark mojo, random end-of-the-world loonies, some confused minions left over from previous failed apocalypses - the usual gang of idiots." Surveying the fierce-looking crew before him, he added, "Don't kill 'em unless you need to. Disabling injuries and broken limbs are fine - long as it keeps 'em away from the house or the Hellmouth, alright?"   
  
"What will the humans be doing?" Eddie said gruffly, in his gravelly voice. Since the Initiative disrupted his family's peaceful life in Sunnydale, he detested humans. He cracked his enormous green knuckles.  
  
"They'll be with me at all times," Spike replied, "Doin' the big spell. Don't worry, I won't let 'em wander about getting in your hair. So to speak," he added since in point of fact Eddie had no hair. "Right, I'm off now - the appointed hour's comin' up."   
  
He slid down from the hood of Clem's truck, and faced his small but powerful army one more time, saying, "We can do this. Watch your backs - and when it's over, you'll have something to lie to your grandkiddies about some day!"  
  
Shouts (and, from the Fyarls, roars) of approbation followed him as he strode off in the direction the park, keeping to the shady side of the street. The demons were pumped.  
  
"Um, okay, so is everybody clear?" Clem said diffidently. He wasn't used to being the leader, and he guessed it showed. But everybody wanted to help - it wasn't like the demon community wanted to be eaten up by Hell-beasts any more than anyone else. In fact the very thought of it made Clem shudder a little.   
  
"No problem, kid," Eddie growled, flexing his shoulder muscles. "Just leave it to us."  
  
Mezzi grinned, showing rows of startlingly white - and sharp - teeth against her dark face. "We haven't had a good battle in many moons," she said. "I hope the enemy is not too fearful to show himself!"  
  
Al looked appreciatively at Mezzi's lithe, leather-clad form. "Time to bust some heads," he agreed.   
  
"Yeah, let's get 'em!" Jeff said with enthusiasm.  
  
Marvin gripped his shoulder firmly. "Listen, kiddo, if there's any scrapping you stay back, understand?"  
  
"Come on, Marv, I can fight," Jeff said, wriggling out of his brother's grasp. "I mean, like Spike showed me some moves, and I've been practicing, too. Sheesh, you'd think I was a kid or something."  
  
"Yeah, you would. You'd also think Ma'll rip my head off and stuff it down my gullet if anything happens to you, so watch it, okay?"   
  
"I'll look out for your kinsman, Marv," Mezzi said, giving Jeff a terrifying smile that was probably meant to be encouraging; "I'm sure he can fight."  
  
Jeff smiled back intrepidly.  
  
  
  
Driving his pickup from checkpoint to checkpoint, Clem had hardly seen anyone - or anything - on the streets so far; it was like human and non-human inhabitants alike sensed that something bad was happening. So far Zevra and one of the Fyarls had taken out three feckless vamps, Eddie and Ezzi stopped three Polgaras heading for the Hellmouth, and the others had merely chased off assorted intruders.   
  
He met up with Mezzi, Al, and Jeff at the end of Revello Drive.  
  
"We caught a Sivverra demon heading this way, but we rousted him and he just took off," Al reported. "Otherwise it's been quiet."  
  
"Ugh, slimy," Clem said. "Well, okay, I'll cruise on past the house again, and you guys take the side streets. We'll meet up later."  
  
"Roger," Jeff said solemnly. Behind him, Mezzi winked an orange eye at Clem. She was a nice girl.   
  
Clem drove slowly past the Summers house. It looked peaceful and secure, a comfy suburban residence. But as he passed, he saw that girl - the Slayer's friend, what was her name, Willow? - the nervous one - come stealthily out the front door, lock it behind her, sprint across the yard and bolt headlong down the sidewalk. And she was running towards the Hellmouth.   
  
"Oh, crimenently!" Clem exclaimed. He hesitated. The girl's face was white and distraught in the brief moment he'd seen it; she could be in trouble. He supposed he'd better follow her. He gunned the motor, something he was usually loath to do, and took off down the street, managing to keep her red hair in view.  
  
As he pulled away, the front door opened again, and another girl came out, unobserved by any protectors. And she too sped towards the Hellmouth.  
  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
"SOLDIERS are citizens of death's gray land,  
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.  
In the great hour of destiny they stand,  
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.  
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win  
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.  
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin  
They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives."  
  
Siegfried Sassoon 


	33. Fire and Night

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The Spike Show. An alternative ending for season 6. Souled-up (really souled-up) Spike and the Scoobies battle to keep the Hellmouth closed.   
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 33. Fire and Night   
  
Crimson flames roared up from the rift in the earth; thunder cracked and lightning sizzled. The vampire cultists simply abased themselves face down before the Hellmouth and allowed themselves to be staked. It was an eerie and somehow repulsive task, but Buffy and Xander dusted all but a few who lost their nerve and scrambled away towards the woods. Then they turned to see what was happening within the barrier.  
  
Acrid smoke billowed out of the crack in the earth and from its midst rose three great black serpentine heads, each as long as a man was tall, with blazing, many-colored eyes and gaping jaws. They were as black inside as out, tooth, tongue, and craw glistening like obsidian.  
  
"I knew there'd be monsters!" Buffy said, "Maybe we can distract them!"   
  
"No!" panted Xander, leaning on his axe. "Buff, if we go in we can't come out - what if more critters show up out here?"  
  
She knew he was right. They began to circle warily around the perimeter, alert for any further offensive from the streets or woods. It felt curiously familiar, like any normal patrol; but their nerves were taut, for much more was at risk. They heard another crash of thunder; the blue-white light of the spell and the red glow from the fissure were the only illumination. If any critter did approach, they wouldn't see or hear it until it was quite close.  
  
Suddenly, without a sound, a slight figure streaked towards the boundary. Behind it barreled a light-colored pickup truck, right across the grass, and they could see Clem's frantic face behind the wheel. They hardly had a chance to react as Willow shot past them and threw herself at the translucent web.   
  
"No - Willow, no!" Buffy yelled.   
  
For a moment Willow faced them, and her eyes wide with what looked like terror - then she turned, forced her way in, and sprinted towards the other end where Spike and Giles stood.  
  
Xander stood motionless a few feet away, staring.   
  
"What's she doing? She can't come out again," he said hollowly.   
  
Clem stumbled up to Buffy. "Believe me, Slayer, I couldn't stop her!" he said. "She just ran straight past me!"  
  
Buffy remembered her dream, and her eyes blurred with tears.  
  
  
  
"Damn!" Spike thought to himself. "Blast and confound the girl!" His mind was divided between maintaining the spell and keeping an eye out for trouble, and here it was. Willow struggled through the barrier, and ran towards him along the edge of the fissure, insanely oblivious to the looming hell-beasts. As she passed them, three great black heads swung around, obviously centering on her; Spike could see their eyes flash red and their jaws open. Now he could also see riders on the huge necks, small, wizened creatures, with scorched, blistered skin and little curved horns. They, too, spotted Willow; he saw them pointing and cackling. As she drew nearer he could see her mouth moving - bugger! She was calling his name. As he watched, powerless to stop it, locked in place by white magic, one of the great necks bent and the sooty-skinned rider reached down and seized her arms; as she screamed and struggled, the monster's head rose up again, lifting Willow with it. The fiend, or imp, or whatever it was, slung her kicking figure over the neck of the beast, and the head sank from view into the abyss.  
  
Spike could hear a faint outcry from Buffy, Xander and Clem, but he stood paralyzed for one more helpless instant. Then the solution sprang to the front of his mind - a solution too appalling to carry out. "No," he whispered angrily. "No, you can't!" But there was no time, no other way; he was trapped. His face twisting bitterly, he subdued his emotions, gathered his concentration, and was briefly still. Then he stepped away from the linkage.   
  
Struggling to keep focus, Giles saw Willow taken; he too remembered Buffy's dream. With deep alarm, he saw an expression of anger and despair cross Spike's face before he left his position. Then, for the second time in three days, Giles felt the hair at the nape of his neck begin to stir and ice run down his spine, despite the heat of the inferno - for standing in Spike's place was a ghost, like the one he had seen it the car on the way to Rack's. It was a different ghost; the faint, shimmering outline was of a small woman, and he could see her clearly enough to see that she was wearing trousers instead of a skirt or gown of any kind, but he couldn't make out her features. She held her arms out to channel the magic stream exactly as Spike had done, and the spell that restrained the opening to Hell continued unbroken.   
  
Spike, meanwhile, dashed down the length of the barrier and lunged abruptly through the translucent wall, gripping Xander's arm and pulling him back inside. He half dragged, half-carried Xander's protesting form back to his former post and set him on his feet.  
  
"Listen!" Spike said compellingly, as a dumbfounded Xander struggled to get his balance; "I'm going for Willow, and I'm putting you in my place -"  
  
Xander couldn't quite grasp what he was supposed to do. "She's gone," he said, perplexed. "I can't - I don't know how -"  
  
Spike's blue eyes pierced his. "Listen! You've used magic before; you can do this. Listen to Anya. Hear her voice. Come on, you can do it - just trust her, Monkey Boy!"   
  
Xander felt a moment of panic; he remembered all that talk of incineration, even if no one else did. With a sudden push, before he could protest further, Spike thrust him into the place where he himself had stood, where the spectral woman now flickered. Xander shuddered as the ghost melted right into his body - but all at once he could hear Anya's voice in his head, clear and reassuring. He felt the pure stream of white magic flow through him, joining him to her and to Giles and Jonathan, and faintly to one other. His dread faded as the beauty of it filled him. He could see Anya, her lovely face confidant, her eyes holding his. 'Trust,' he heard her say, though her lips weren't moving, 'accept. Hold on. Open, not closed. Belief, not fear.' He drew a deep, shaky breath, and kept his gaze steadily on her, putting all his faith in her; Anya would not let him down. He knew it.   
  
Grabbing the axe from Xander's unresisting hands, Spike spun and raced away towards the edge of the crack in the earth. Giles saw him assume his demon face, fiercer than he had ever beheld it, and an unfamiliar bluish light passed over his body - then he deliberately jumped over the edge, after Willow.   
  
Outside the barrier, Buffy screamed.   
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
"Where no thing rests and no man is,  
And only fire and night hold sway;  
The beat, the thunder and the hiss  
Cease not, and change not, night nor day.  
And moving at unheard commands,  
The abysses and vast fires between,  
Flit figures that with clanking hands  
Obey a hideous routine;  
They are not flesh, they are not bone,  
They see not with the human eye,  
And from their iron lips is blown  
A dreadful and monotonous cry;  
And whoso of our mortal race  
Should find that city unaware,  
Lean Death would smite him face to face,  
And blanch him with its venomed air:  
Or caught by the terrific spell,  
Each thread of memory snapt and cut,  
His soul would shrivel and its shell  
Go rattling like an empty nut."  
  
Archibald Lampman, The City at the End of Things 


	34. Dark Valley

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Well, almost all.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The Spike Show. An alternative ending for season 6. Souled-up (really souled-up) Spike and the Scoobies battle to keep the Hellmouth closed.   
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 34. Dark Valley  
  
  
Spike leaped into the fissure; the crack in the earth was not simply a hole, but instead a huge, ragged gap that led to a warren of tunnels, apparently hacked or bored upwards from below. He landed heavily on a ledge, and with his acute demonic vision saw through the murk that there were many ledges and outcroppings studding the sides; the opening ran along about fifty feet and ended in a rough, sloping floor leading further downwards. Flames inconveniently shot from cracks in the walls and floor at unpredictable intervals; well, the fun just keeps on coming, he thought.  
  
There were no signs of the beasts that took Willow, or any other animate being, and he decided his first task was to reach floor level. The earthen walls shuddered as he clambered over the edge of the projection, dangled for a moment, and dropped to another shelf about fifteen feet down, prudently keeping a firm grip on the axe he'd taken from Xander. Great boomings and rumblings still sounded from even lower levels; it was very hot, very noisy, and malodorous in the cavern, and as he descended, he could see a reddish glow from the far end.  
  
He'd just hit the floor when he heard an ominous leathery rustling. He crouched, scanning the area for cover, and then he saw it, a black, bat-winged creature, large as a man, with a long, snaky neck, flapping straight towards him, inky jaws agape.  
  
Bugger; well, at least he had a weapon. He took a firm two-handed grip on the axe, and leapt towards the beast on an intercept trajectory, swinging the blade high. The creature saw him but was unable to reverse itself, and his first blow hit it where the right wing joined the torso. It squawked loudly and whirled, snapping at him, whereupon he aimed another powerful blow at the neck, and then just kept hacking until it was dead. Not, evidently, the brightest brute in the world - or out of it. As the thing fell limply to the ground, smoke rose from its body, and Spike cautiously backed away, wiping splatters of black blood from his face.  
  
But for the subterranean groaning and occasional spurts of flame, and now the crackling of the creature's suddenly blazing corpse, the cavern was eerily quiet. Spike was puzzled, and worried. He didn't see any openings large enough for the great beasts and their prize, except, perhaps, for one high-roofed tunnel where a weird reddish light pulsed. Was there just one dimensional gate leading to Hell - or one of zillions of hells - or were there several? Could the portals be disguised? If Willow had been carried off through an invisible gate, how could he find her?  
  
Suddenly something caught his ear - a whooshing noise, like the sound of those leathery wings multiplied. It was either a larger beast or many smaller ones, and either way it was something to avoid. The sound came from one of the tunnels, or possibly more than one. A swift glance around showed several massive stones big enough to duck behind, one of them usefully situated in front of a sort of hollow - better for fighting off attackers if he were detected. He darted across the cavern and vaulted over the boulder into the recess.  
  
As he landed, something moved in the darkness, and he spun with a snarl, axe aloft.  
  
"Hey, Spike!" Willow said, with a pretty fair assumption of perkiness, under the circumstances, "What's new?"  
  
She was squeezed as far back into the niche as possible, muddy, battered and rather singed in spots, but otherwise unharmed.  
  
Spike dropped down beside her, momentarily stupefied. Then he seized her in a frantic hug, ignoring her little "eep!" of alarm; after that he took her by the shoulders and shook her 'til her teeth rattled.  
  
"Are you INSANE, girl?" he hissed, keeping his voice low to avoid alerting any approaching monsters. "What the HELL d'you think you're doing?"  
  
As she opened her mouth to reply, the whooshing noise suddenly became a roar; Spike pushed Willow to the ground and threw himself over her, protecting her head with his arms, as a flight of about a dozen winged whatever-they-weres flapped through the cavern and disappeared down another tunnel.   
  
After a few moments silence, he sat up and pulled her up, too, awkwardly brushing dirt from her clothes.  
  
"Damn it, Willow, you were safe!" he said angrily, "Why did you leave the house? Why did you come here?"   
  
"I thought of a way to help! I had to tell you!" Somehow, she managed to wail sotto voce. "And something - something made me come." She looked up at him with fear in her wide green eyes - green, not black - and tears streaking her cheeks, and he realized he was still vamped-out. He shook himself back to human face again apologetically.  
  
"Look, Red, we've got to get you out of here; they're looking for you by now. Might as well have a big target painted on your back. How'd you get away, anyway?"  
  
"Well, I didn't exactly get away; I sort of fell off. Triumph of the clumsy. They were heading down there -" she pointed towards the opening where ruddy light glowed; "and I fell and rolled down a slope and found this little hidey place. I'm not sure they even noticed; they're not - not aware like we are. I'm not sure they're even alive. They're like extra creepy robots, only not."  
  
Spike calmed down a bit. This could have been so much worse. He still wondered where the beasts had actually gone, but that they weren't HERE could only be a good thing. He was fairly certain an attack of some kind was being prepared, but he'd have to deal with that when the time came. Now if he could get Willow back before the hell-dwellers detected her presence - hmmm. There might be a way. If he could grab a some time before any beasties arrived...  
  
"Look, Red, sit tight a minute; I'll try and put 'em off your trail," he said, handing her the axe, which she clutched to her chest. "Take this - be right back." He swung himself over their protective boulder again, and dashed down one of the tunnels out of sight.   
  
  
  
Willow huddled behind the big rock and waited, her fingers locked painfully around the axe he'd given her, just barely restraining herself from begging him not to leave her alone. She'd never been happier to see anyone in her life than she was to see Spike coming for her. Thank you, Buffy, for being such a potent souled-up vamp magnet, she thought gratefully; I'm sorry I said all those things when I was, like, evil.  
  
She expected to be terrified beyond all power of rational thought by this point, but actually her mind was quite clear. Even after her long experience with demons, all her years of fighting evil, and being literally infected by evil, the touch of that fiend's hands inexorably gripping her arms was the most frightening thing that had ever happened to her. Those hands were hot, dry, and utterly inhuman; that face was not only unfeeling but without even a glint of understanding. At least vampires and demons - the ones she'd met, anyway - had comprehensible motives. With these hell-beings, there was no distinct person there at all that she could see, and that truly scared her.  
  
It was true - she had thought of an idea she needed to tell Spike. It was also true that her idea was partly an excuse; she was drawn to the Hellmouth. The throb of raw power there called to her, and she realized that she was still poisoned - that was the only word - by the taint of the dark magics she had toyed with so heedlessly. But when that evil being seized her, and her feet left the ground, and she felt herself being pulled first upwards, then stomach-churningly downwards to a demonic nether-world, things suddenly shifted in her mind from chaos to absolute clarity. First, she definitely did not want to die. Second, she didn't want to serve in some evil overlord's horde, magical power or no magical power. No power was worth surrendering her freedom, her individuality, her actual personhood for. She didn't want to be one of those anonymous corrupt creatures obeying a malignant master. She'd far, far rather be a nerd again, powerless and negligible, but at least herself.  
  
She heard footsteps and hoped desperately it was Spike. Taking a firmer grip on the axe, she raised it slightly, getting the balance of the weapon; at least she'd go down fighting. She peered over the rim of the boulder, her face full of resolve.  
  
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
"Then came a conquering earth-thunder, and rumbled  
That fierce complain to silence: while I stumbled  
Down a precipitous path, as if impell'd.  
I came to a dark valley.-Groanings swell'd  
Poisonous about my ears, and louder grew,  
The nearer I approach'd a flame's gaunt blue,  
That glar'd before me through a thorny brake.  
This fire, like the eye of gordian snake,  
Bewitch'd me towards; and I soon was near  
A sight too fearful for the feel of fear..."  
  
John Keats, Endymion 


	35. She That Bids the Poet Sing

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Well, almost all.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The Spike Show. An alternative ending for season 6. Souled-up (really souled-up) Spike, the Scoobies, and friends battle to keep the Hellmouth closed.   
  
----------------------------------------------------  
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 35. She That Bids the Poet Sing   
  
  
Buffy fell to her knees, staring numbly at the edge of the chasm where Spike and Willow had disappeared into blackness. Clem patted her back clumsily.  
  
"Don't worry, Spike will find her, Slayer," he said. "He won't let you down! Here come your reinforcements, too."  
  
As he spoke their demon forces began to trickle in. Zevra and one of the Fyarls (they never could tell them apart, even Spike) and Eddie and Ezzi approached across the lawn, from separate directions.   
  
"Hi, guys!" Clem said. "What's it like out there?"  
  
Zevra halted near Buffy and leaned on her spear, her orange eyes serious.   
  
"We think there's a coordinated attack coming, Slayer. We've seen a few groups of vampires and demons heading this way, but they disappear when the see us coming. We killed many, of course. But they run from us."  
  
Buffy rose and wiped her eyes. This was no time for wallowing. They still had work to do.   
  
"They'll make a last-ditch attempt to break the spell," she said briskly. " We just have to hold them off 'til midnight. It's almost eleven; only an hour to go."   
  
They stood around her in a loose circle. Marvin and the second Fyarl had joined them by this time; Al, Mezzi, and Jeff had yet to arrive - maybe vamps or something had held them up. Buffy trusted Al and Mezzi to take care of themselves and Jeff, too, so she wasn't worried.   
  
"Spread out, but not too far," she directed. "We should keep within sight of each other; I don't want them to be able to pick anyone off, understood?" At their nods of assent, she continued, "Good. Let's stay alert and ready for attack. Bring your weapons, and follow me."  
  
  
  
Spike dashed back down the corridor. His cunning plan to throw the hell-beasts off Willow's scent should work for the time being. Now to get her out of here. He leapt back over their rock, and dropped down beside her again.   
  
"Okay, step one accomplished," he said, taking up their conversation as if he'd never left. "Step two, major running away." He looked at her. "So what was your idea?"  
  
"Oh!" Actually she seemed pretty chuffed about it; a definite gleam appeared in her green eyes. "Okay; see, there's one kind of spell I was always really good at -"  
  
"Willow, I can't give you your power back even for this -" he began uneasily.  
  
"No, no! I get that, okay? But you've still GOT it, right?" she said. "The power? And I know the spell."  
  
"There's no time for you to teach me -"  
  
"Take it from my mind," she said, meeting his eyes squarely, her expression resolute. "And then use my power to carry it out. You can do that, right?"  
  
"Willow - " He had to look away for a moment. He was almost shocked; her suggestion betokened a degree of faith in him he'd never expected. If he needed to breathe he'd be breathing hard; as it was there was tightness in his chest he couldn't quite explain to himself. "You sure you want that?" he said finally. "You want me of all people mucking about in your mind?"  
  
"I trust you, Spike," she said firmly. "I know this will work."  
  
He looked at her searchingly, but she didn't appear frightened or even uncertain, just determined.  
  
"If you're really sure," he said, touching the side of her face lightly.   
  
"Do it, Spike," she said, keeping her eyes on his.  
  
He cupped her smudged face between his now grubby hands and concentrated briefly. A very faint flicker of pure bluish light glowed between them for a moment. Then he took his hands away, and grinned.   
  
"Clever girl," he said.  
  
Willow grinned back. "Told you."  
  
  
"Now to get you out of this, well, hell-hole; we'll do your spell just as we leave - don't want to be caught in it, do we?" He studied the walls of the cavern carefully. "I've got something that'll help us get out, but we need to be higher up. And we should be watching for beasties, as well."   
  
He rose cautiously, pulling her up, and pointed to an area of incline which looked scalable; she nodded her understanding. Keeping a wary eye out, they crept towards it hand in hand.  
  
"I don't think I can climb that," Willow said when they reached the foot of what looked like a sheer wall from close up. "It's too steep."  
  
"No, but I can. I want to get us to that ledge up there, see it?"  
  
She nodded. "But -"  
  
"If you put you arms around my neck and cling to my back, can you keep hold of the axe, too? 'Cause we'll need it - the calm before the storm, this is."  
  
"Sorta like a baby monkey hanging on to its mommy in a nature program? Well, except for the axe part. Yeah, I can do that; I'm pretty strong - just not, you know, a vampire."  
  
"Hey, you had your chance, girl; more than one, if I recall," Spike said good-humoredly. "Right, let's go then."  
  
He crouched down slightly, and boosted her onto his back. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and her arms around his neck, still clutching the axe. She was right - she was strong. Her leg muscles squeezing his midriff and her arms pressing uncomfortably against his windpipe were toned and powerful. Well, that was one worry off his mind; at least she wouldn't fall. He started up the incline, finding handholds and footholds with his acute vision that she couldn't even see, and using his super-strength to lift both of them.  
  
They were making good progress, when he heard Willow catch her breath.  
  
"Uh, Spike?"  
  
Her voice in his ear was willfully perky. He gripped an outthrust rock with both hands, and pulled them up another three feet.  
  
"Yeah?" he gasped. He didn't need air to breathe, but her arms around his neck made it remarkably difficult to talk.  
  
"I don't know if you noticed -"  
  
He felt for another hold, and his fingers found a hollow at the furthest extension of his right arm.  
  
"- But there's one of those cracks with flames shooting out of it right near that ledge."  
  
With a powerful pull he drew them upward another two feet.  
  
"And if it catches you I'll be riding on a big pile of dust. Not to mention being sort of scorched myself. And falling and breaking my neck, probably."  
  
They had almost reached the ledge. He acknowledged her worry with a grunt, and was still for a moment. A blue-white light washed over both of them. Then with a final effort, he pulled up another few feet, dangled for a precarious moment, and dragged himself over the rim. Willow rolled off his back onto the ledge, and they both lay panting for a moment.  
  
"Hey!" she said. "What the heck was that?"  
  
"Flame protection spell." He couldn't help giving her a rather smug smile; she wasn't the only one with some nifty witchery up her sleeve, thanks very much. "My boffins cooked it up. There's a sunlight protection one, as well."  
  
"Wow! Cool! And it'll work on me, too?"  
  
"Should do. It's temporary, but I'm hoping we won't need it for long. There's enough juice left to renew it, too." He didn't mention that it hadn't exactly been tested out yet. Why worry the girl? It was all they had.   
  
  
  
The humming white noise and shimmering white light of the barrier spell washed over Giles' senses; the incredible joined power of scores of sprites, spirits, and minor deities, summoned by who knew how many metaphysical Watchers, flowed through him easily, freely, and without strain of any kind. He felt wonderfully buoyant and - well, the only word was purified, in tune with nature, humanity, the world, and the universe. It was rather glorious, actually.   
  
He could see what went on all around him; he was dimly aware of Buffy, Clem and the demon army, and even of Spike and Willow in the darkness not far below; the bond of knowing between him and the other three spellcasters was particularly strong. At this moment he knew, understood, and loved the deep-seated goodness he sensed in Anya, Xander, and even Jonathan without reservation.  
  
Around and beneath them he sensed other beings, too, steeped in evil, perceptible only as a lack - lack of individual volition, of moral context. And in his mind was the faintest flavor of another personality, a woman of great strength and intelligence, and also great sorrow, obviously the ghost who had briefly taken her place among them.   
  
Spike had somehow passed to him the knowledge, the power, and even the skill to end their spell whether he himself survived or no. Giles knew that the time to do just that was approaching; he knew, too, that danger would strike at them, and soon. But if they could only hold out a bit longer the peril of the Hellmouth would be greatly diminished, perhaps for good; and Giles would do whatever it took to ensure that end result. Whatever it took.   
  
TBC  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
"ALONE amid the battle-din untouched  
Stands out one figure beautiful, serene;  
No grime of smoke nor reeking blood hath smutched  
The virgin brow of this unconquered queen.  
She is the Joy of Courage vanquishing  
The unstilled tremors of the fearful heart;  
And it is she that bids the poet sing,  
And gives to each the strength to bear his part."  
  
Dyneley Hussey 


	36. The Mightier Joy

Title: Return  
Author: Ivytree  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Well, almost all.   
Feedback: Please!  
Summary: The Spike Show. An alternative ending for season 6. Souled-up (really souled-up) Spike, the Scoobies, and friends battle to keep the Hellmouth closed.   
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
RETURN  
  
  
Part 36. The Mightier Joy  
  
  
"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God," Dawn panted. She felt like she'd been running for hours. She did her best to ignore the stitch in her side as her feet hammered the pavement, but human speed and youth would only take her so far - she was tiring, and every step jolted her whole body. The vampires would catch her before long.   
  
Soon after she left the house she'd noticed three of them following her, two tall men and a woman, none of them even attempting to hide what they were. Then, turning down a side street, she spotted two more male vamps approaching at a run. She tried to throw them off, darting through the familiar streets and alleys of Sunnydale's shopping district, but no matter what she tried they still pursued her, predatory and indefatigable.   
  
She knew she should never have followed Willow. And if she had followed her, she should never, never have lost sight of her.  
  
The night was inky black, without a star or cloud showing above, and she gasped for breath as the air itself grew thick and ominous. Distant thunder rumbled, and the echoes of tremors shook the ground. As a California girl - well, a pseudo-California girl - Dawn was used to earthquakes, but this was different. And not in a good way.  
  
She wished she'd done as she was told, for once. Spike had specifically told her to stay in the house, and used his new powers to make it safe, but how could she just sit and wait when everyone else was in danger? But he was going to be SOOOO pissed at her... if they both lived.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Now for our way out," Spike said, scanning the cavern.  
  
"Hurry," Willow whispered. He shot her a sharp look. Her face was white and taut; well, who could blame the girl for being scared? The cavern was foul smelling and dark, and an uproar of growls and shrieks from the hell-beasts that sought them assaulted their ears. It was enough to shake anyone's nerve. He didn't mind it so much - he knew for a fact it was better than an actual hell-dimension - but it was no place for a girl like Willow.  
  
He crawled across the ledge where they huddled and pressed his palms to the dirt wall behind them; ripples of light spread out from his hands, disappearing into the soil. With a sudden grating rumble, a new fissure tore the earth, leaving an open passage about eight feet in diameter, lined with rocks and roots.   
  
"Way to go!" she said, ducking to avoid being hit in the head by the shower of dirt, stones, and vegetation that followed. "Hey, I know where we are now; we must be right under the victory garden!"  
  
Spike looked at her, brushing what certainly appeared to be cabbage leaves and carrot tops off the back of his neck. "There's a victory garden? In Sunnydale?"  
  
"The Sunnydale Parks Department is the pride of Southern California," she said, lifting her chin.  
  
"They'd sort of have to be, wouldn't they?"   
  
"Uh, Spike? Do you hear what I hear?" Willow motioned towards the floor of the chamber.   
  
Unfortunately, he did. The din from below had grown much louder. Peering over the rim of the ledge, he saw sooty black figures, of every conceivable size and shape - in fact, some of them were actually inconceivable - gathering at the mouths of various tunnels and passages leading into the main chamber. And there were rather a lot more of them than there were a few minutes ago.  
  
"Balls!" he growled. "Oh, well, least they haven't seen us yet." Obviously, the enemy troops were massing, but so far they just milled about, rather than heading straight for the two of them. Score one for the good guys; phase one of his cunning plan had succeeded - so far.   
  
Spike looked at Willow; she crossed her arms and hugged herself, probably to keep him from seeing her hands trembling. But the brain was still working, he noted with approval. She said, "You know, it can't be just them. They're too, well, too dumb. There must be someone - something - else giving the orders."  
  
"Someone we'd rather not meet, I fancy," he said grimly. He'd hoped she wouldn't think of that.  
  
The cries and bellows from beneath them were louder now. He reached behind her and hefted a sizeable turnip, big as a baseball. "Got another idea, Red. Want to collect some of these?"  
  
She stared at him for a moment, her forehead creasing. The noise was really getting on her nerves; he could hear her heart pounding faster. Better get the girl out of here soon. But one more little diversion -   
  
She scrambled across the ledge and helped him gather some good-sized vegetables into a small mound. "Now what?"  
  
"Just keep passing 'em to me," he said, with a deliberately annoying grin. He concentrated briefly on the turnip in his hand, which took on a magical pinkish glow, and then forcefully pitched it far across the cavern. They heard a sudden cacophony of roars and growls from the unseen creatures beneath them, and the clatter and thud of inhuman feet.   
  
"Did the same thing with rocks before," he said, holding out his hand for another missile, "but a moving target's better." He heaved it across the chamber and more clamor was heard from the hell-beasts as they turned in confusion to follow the new trail, stumbling and crashing into each other. Phase two of the cunning plan was working, it seemed. "See, I'm charging these with a bit of your magical spoor, so to speak, Will - no offense - and the dimwitted prats are running after it, thinking it's you."   
  
"Neat!" she smiled, slapping a rutabaga into his palm like an OR nurse handing a surgeon a scalpel. "Confusion to our enemies! And that's, you know, literally, in this case."  
  
"Confound their knavish tricks," he agreed, lobbing the mystically luminous vegetable in yet another direction. There was a satisfying chorus of howls from below, followed by a particularly resounding roar.  
  
Their store of ammunition exhausted, Spike brushed off his hands, saying, "That should keep 'em busy - "  
  
Suddenly she cried out. "Spike! They're turning back! They see us!"  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Dawn could hear snarls right behind her. Oh, God. Pain shot through her thigh muscles as she put on one last burst of speed. Maybe she could still lose them. (Yeah, right. Not like they had super senses and could hear her every move or smell her or anything.) She made a swift right turn into an alleyway she was pretty sure stretched all the way to the other side of the block.   
  
One of them swiped at her, and she felt a gust of air across her back; still running, she scrabbled desperately in her bag for a small bottle and unscrewed the cap. She gripped the vial firmly, whirled, and threw it with all her strength at the closest vamp. His demonic visage contorted, and he screamed and pawed at his face as the holy water burned. Dawn took the split second this allowed her to race into the opening of another alley.   
  
Damn! She thought she knew this street, but she must have gotten turned around - where was she? Gasping for breath, she turned back the way she came, and crashed into a stack of crates, stumbling to her knees. Struggling to her feet, she turned, and her eyes widened with panic - from the darkness glowed two pairs of demonic yellow eyes.   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"Well, then," Spike said, "I'll make it a bit more difficult for 'em, shall I?"   
  
He stood suddenly, raised his arms straight above his head, and said in a penetrating whisper, "Fumio! Fumio! Fumio!" Then he dropped back down beside Willow. "Got this from one of the more theatrical types," he explained, "Some spirits go for a bit of a tap dance."  
  
She managed a smile. That's the spirit, Red, he thought.   
  
"Works for me; I always liked the showy stuff," she said.   
  
He crouched near the edge of the precipice and nodded toward the hell-creatures. "Look."  
  
Clutching his arm, she peeped over. Far beneath them, the fetid air seemed to thicken and turn cloudy, and yellow-gray mist rolled across the floor in waves, rising up the walls of the cavern. Their view of their opponents dimmed.   
  
"Fog!" she exclaimed.  
  
"Real pea-souper. Looks just like St. Martin's Lane circa 1895 down there, and you can take my word on that. Should hold 'em back for a bit. Now," he said, offering her a hand up, "let's scarper."  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Dawn stared paralyzed as the two vampires stalked toward her. One was a tall, burly guy, dressed pretty much like a biker - she wouldn't have wanted to be in an alley with him even if he were human - and the other a fierce looking woman in a red nylon jogging suit, of all things. They positioned themselves across the passage to prevent her getting by. A glance over her shoulder showed her there were two more blocking her escape at the other end. She backed up against the wall, feeling the rough bricks pressing against her back, and fished furiously in her purse for more holy water. She KNEW she'd taken more than one vial.  
  
Sneering, the lead vampire said, "Led us quite a dance, didn't you, girly?"  
  
Dawn's fingers discovered what they were feeling for. "Your friend's not dancing," she spat. "He's rolling around on the ground screaming. Didn't you notice?"  
  
"That just leaves more for us," the woman growled.   
  
"Maybe you should have what he's having!" Dawn yelled, and threw the second bottle. It hit the woman square in the face, and she stumbled back with a high-pitched cry. But at the same moment, the male vamp sprang for her and seized her arms in an unbreakable grip.   
  
"Now I get you all for myself," he said, dragging her closer and baring his fangs.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
"If that means 'run away' - yes, please!" Willow said, scrambling to her feet. She picked up the axe, handing it politely to Spike. "Shall we?"  
  
"After you." Thrusting the axe handle through his belt, Spike boosted her up ahead of him into the new passage. Finding plentiful footholds amongst the twisting tree roots and stones protruding from the earth, they began the climb to the surface, moving quickly upward. They were near enough to see the white shimmer of the sealing spell above them when a deep, rage-filled bellow echoed behind them.  
  
"Hurry, Red!" Spike urged her on. "They've spotted us again - and it's not just beasties this time!"  
  
"I am hurrying!" Suddenly the root she clutched seemed to come alive and twist itself out of her grasp. At the same time, he saw something snake around her ankle. Damn, damn, damn. He felt desperately for the axe.   
  
"Yikes!" Willow cried as she was drawn back down the slope, scrabbling at the dirt with her hands. "Spike, help me!"   
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
Dawn kicked out desperately, and emitted an ear-splitting scream as the vampire bent his head toward her throat -  
  
- And fell on her backside as he exploded into dust. All at once there was a confusion of shouts, demonic roars, and the clatter of more crates being knocked over; her eye caught the silvery flash of a blade as another vamp was decapitated and puffed into nothing. Then there was quiet, except for the painful thud of her heart and her own strained breathing.  
  
Dawn stared up at three people - well, beings - she'd never seen before. Or had she? The young Merrin demon standing before her, with curly black hair and neatly curving black horns, was sort of familiar. Behind him was a taller, burlier version of himself, wearing a muscle tee, and a gorgeous, black-skinned, white-maned, spear wielding woman warrior; all looked down at her in concern. And all five vamps seemed to be - gone.  
  
"Hi," the younger demon said shyly, offering her a hand. "Remember me? We met at Anyanka's wedding."  
  
Dawn's brain kicked into gear and she placed him at last. The wedding. They'd compared family insanity. She took his hand and pulled herself up. "Sure I remember. It's Jeff, right?"   
  
Even in the darkness she could see that he blushed. "Right. I didn't think you, like, noticed me. You were so busy."  
  
"I think we were the only ones our age there," she said, brushing vampire dust off her jeans. "Was that weird, or what?"  
  
"Oh, man, it took the first prize for weirdness. The weirdiosity was overwhelming."  
  
"I WAS overwhelmed." Forgetting her troubles for a moment, Dawn giggled. "And I thought my sister was going to like totally lose it."  
  
"You should have seen my - "  
  
The older Merrin cleared his throat.  
  
"Much as we're all enjoying the social chit-chat, maybe we should get a move on," he said gruffly, flexing his shoulders.  
  
"Oh, sorry." Jeff said, abashed. "Dawn, this is Mezzi - " Mezzi raised her gleaming spear in salute, "and this is my brother, Al." He rolled his eyes slightly introducing his pugnacious sibling. Dawn knew just how he felt.   
  
"Well, thanks, everybody, for saving me."  
  
"Don't mention it, kid. Spike said to look out for you, so we did," Al said simply. "We should get over to the Hellmouth now, see what we can do there, 'cause I think we knocked off all the bad guys in this part of town. And I'm not tired yet."  
  
"Come, let us join the Slayer at the scene of battle." Mezzi's orange eyes flashed, and Dawn gazed at her open-mouthed as she brandished her razor-sharp spear. She continued, "More blood will flow before the night is done!"   
  
Of course, not a lot of blood actually had flowed, because they were killing vamps, which was pretty blood-free. But Al for one seemed entirely behind the sentiment, anyway.  
  
"You said it, baby," he growled approvingly.  
  
Jeff rolled his eyes again, as if to say, listen, I don't really KNOW these people.  
  
  
TBC  
  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   
  
  
"Why weep and wait for thee, though laggard, Morn,  
With all thy joys of love and peace and light?  
For us the mightier joy that rives the soul,  
When, slaves no longer to a day unborn,  
Our flag of war along the dark we unroll  
For fell encounter with the hosts of Night."  
  
William Gay 


	37. Clouds of Darkness

Title: Return

Author: Ivytree

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Well, almost all. 

Feedback: Please!

Summary: The Spike Show. An alternative ending for season 6. Souled-up (really souled-up) Spike, the Scoobies, and friends battle to keep the Hellmouth closed. 

A/N: (A brief synopsis in case you forgot all about this one.) When we left our heroes - Warren's attempt to drain power from the Hellmouth backfires and instead power flows from our world to the other side, strengthening the evil forces trying to break through. Willow's attempt to kill Warren, with Anyanka's help, only enhances the effect. Spike returns from Africa with not just his own soul, but as the repository of hundreds of Watchers' souls, and the power and knowledge the Watchers possess. Buffy loves Spike, and Xander loves Anya, who is now human again. Spike, inhabited by one of his gang of Watchers, leads a raiding party to roust Rack, Amy, and assorted demons who were in league with forces of evil. Giles determines that the attempt to break open the Hellmouth must take place on Tuesday, at the dark of the moon. Buffy dreams that Willow was drawn inside the Hellmouth. Willow is visited by a mystery demon smelling of brimstone. Giles, Spike, Anya, and Jonathan perform a spell to keep the Hellmouth from opening, and perhaps seal it permanently; the Hellmouth opens, but can still be forced shut by the spell if it's kept in place until midnight. At the same time, Buffy, Xander, and a small cadre of friendly demons recruited by Clem guard the spellcasters. Willow leaves Buffy's house where she's waiting with Dawn and runs straight toward the Hellmouth, where she is taken by a great beast. Dawn runs out of the house after Willow. Spike puts Xander in his place, and follows her down into the open chasm. He finds her, and they manage to avoid recapture and climb to a ledge near the top of the opening. Meanwhile, hell-beasts are massing inside and outside of the Hellmouth.

(Gee, this is long!)    

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

RETURN

Part 37. Clouds of Darkness

"Hurry, Red!" Spike urged her on. "They've spotted us again—and it's not just beasties this time!"

"I am hurrying!" Suddenly the root she clutched seemed to come alive and twist itself out of her grasp. At the same time, he saw something snake around her ankle. Damn, damn, damn. He felt desperately for the axe. 

"Yikes!" Willow cried as she was dragged back down the slope, scrabbling at the dirt with her hands. "Spike, help me!"

Cursing, Spike let himself slide down until he could grab her wrist with his left hand. Then, hooking one knee around a tree root, he seized the axe and swung it with as much precision as he could muster against the fiber gripping Willow's ankle. Her green, panic-filled eyes fixed on him trustingly. Better aim carefully, then; wouldn't want to cut the girl's foot off. One, two, three chops—and she was loose. Thrusting the axe through his belt, he heard her gasp gratefully.

"Come on!" he exclaimed, hauling fiercely on her arm. With a powerful heave, he drew her unresisting body up the incline; he dragged her before him, got behind her, took a firm hold, and pushed.

Puffs of foul-smelling steam pursued them as they struggled toward the opening. Rocks and plant matter tore Spike's arms and loose soil stung his eyes. The roots seemed to twist and squirm under his hands, and he felt them plucking at his shirt and jeans. Finally cooler, fresher air told him they had almost reached their goal. With one final shove, he thrust Willow out ahead of him and crawled out on hands and knees, and they collapsed on the grass, gasping.

"Next time, watch your hands, buster!" Eyes fiery, Willow rubbed her buttock. "I'll be black and blue tomorrow!"

"There's gratitude!" he retorted, stung. "You're lucky…"

Without warning, the earth bucked under them, and at the same time an inhuman bellow sounded from deep within the rift. With strange creaking sounds, woody tendrils emerged from the crack in the soil, twisting and turning blindly with a disturbing effect of volition, as if seeking them out. One turned in Willow's direction and halted, as if it had found what it was looking for.

"Spike! Close it! Close it up again!"

"S'pose I'd better." Spike struggled to his knees. "Hold on, Red." He placed both hands flat against the earth. After a few moments he felt power surge through him and flow into the soil under his hands. The ground seemed to shiver and groan, and the fissure slowly closed on the questing roots, leaving only a ragged line of yellowed, cooked grass to mark its existence. 

 "The Parks Department's going to be pissed," Willow observed in a shaky voice. She turned candid eyes on Spike. "Are you running out of juice? It's taking a little longer every time, isn't it?"

He'd hoped she hadn't noticed that. "Just my pals protecting me," he replied, knocking on his forehead with soil-encrusted knuckles. "Don't want to burn out the circuits, do they? Not when they've gone to all this trouble." He looked upward, but the sky was black with clouds and not a star could be seen. They'd emerged well outside the glittering dome of the seal. "Bollocks! What time is it?"

Willow scrubbed dirt from her watch with the hem of her sweater and squinted at it. "Eleven fifty." 

Just ten more minutes; if they could hold the hell beasts back for that long, the Hellmouth would close more securely than ever before. But if the creatures escaped and broke through the barrier…

"Right. We'd better leg it." Taking a deep breath, Spike clambered to his feet and extended a hand to help her up. "Come on, girl—let's go send the balloon up, shall we?"

* * * *

"Hold on…it won't be long now. Just hold on." Feathery voices whispered reassurance. So many he knew. Sam Zabuto, gone not long after his slayer. Tom McNab. Dr. Pettigrew, his old teacher. Even his dear Nan's voice, precise and astringent. Floating in a bubble of light and peace, Giles could barely feel his feet touching the ground. The voices supported him. There was no sorrow, no worry. It was quite lovely, really. Staying conscious and anchored to this world long enough to complete the spell was proving to be a bit of a problem. The temptation to relax, let go, and drift away into the beautiful void was very powerful. 

He was only dimly aware of the others now, Jonathan, Anya, and Xander, holding down their corners of the spell. The other—that ghostly other, wreathed in wisps of sorrow—was gone now. And he didn't even wonder where Willow and Spike had gotten to; if Spike's talents, combined with those of centuries of watchers, couldn't handle this crisis, humankind was doomed, anyway. Why agonize? He wondered if this was what death was like, the serenity and comfort. Those who had been there always said they "went into the light." Was this that light? Was this what they had stolen from Buffy?

Even the sparks and flame licking up from the crack in the earth were beautiful, in a curious way, reflecting red against the white glow of the mystical seal. Giles was content to contemplate it's esthetic quality for the time being, and leave the struggle of analysis for later.

* * * *

Darkness smothered the streets of Sunnydale like a shroud. Houses and buildings were shut up tight, and no light from street lamp or shop window pierced the gloom. As Al's pickup bucketed toward the park, with Al, Jeff, Mezzi, and Dawn packed inside, they passed not a single moving vehicle. The citizens had either taken cover, or fled. Eyes wide, Dawn braced her arms against the dashboard, and tires squealed as Al, his knuckles straining, guided the truck around the road's final curve, over the curb, and right onto the park's once manicured lawn. 

"Holy…!" Al slammed on the brakes at the sight of the glittering, translucent dome; the 4x4 skidded sideways before jerking to a halt. 

"Sorry, everybody," Al said. "What IS that?"

The light reflected from Mezzi's eyes as she peered through the window. "It is a mystical barrier," she replied. "The Slayer's minions are attempting to contain the hell beasts."

"Oh. Wow," Al said. "I didn't expect it to be so…big."

"Um, they're not exactly MINIONS," Dawn ventured. "More like companions."

"Like Legolas and Gimli," Jeff offered.

"Exactly!" 

"I meant no disrespect, Slayer-Sister," Mezzi said, as they piled out of the car. "All are heroes of legend in their own right, I know."

"Well…" Dawn began. But when Mezzi put it that way, she guessed they were. Even Jonathan.

"Okay, ladies and gents, it's time to kill stuff," Al said, opening the back of the truck. He unfastened a tarp-wrapped bundle, revealing a stash of bladed weapons. 

"You kids be careful with these, now," he warned, handing Jeff an impressive battle ax and Dawn a gleaming sword; "they're sharp."

"Aw, come on, Al!" Jeff's shoulders twisted with embarrassment. "I know what I'm doing. Spike showed me how to fight."

"And my sister showed me," Dawn said. Well, she had. Kinda. Sorta.

"Yeah? Well, just make sure you don't slice up nothin' but bad guys," Al retorted, unimpressed. 

* * * *

Buffy spun, kicked an attacking Wheezah demon directly in its secondary lung sac, and, whirling her sword overhead, sliced its head off neatly at the cervical vertebrae. The beast crashed to the ground at her feet, and she wrinkled her nose at the stench. To her right she could see Ezzi dispatch some sort of tall, thin creature with six—no, eight—arms. 

"Ho, Slayer! Good hunting!" The Amazon caught her eye and grinned, her pointed teeth as scary as any weapon, and waved her spear in salute. Buffy returned the gesture, and surveyed the battlefield. 

Between them, she and her demon army had killed about two score of attackers, from Polgaras to Dendrobians to a slew of others she had never seen before—not to mention vamps. Giles would have fun sorting out the carcasses after this was over, she supposed, and Willow could add them all to her demon database. If Giles survived. If Willow was still alive, and free, instead of being a soulless hell-slave bent on the destruction of everything she had ever loved or cared about.

Buffy decided not to think of that now.

The beasties, as Spike would call them—better not think of that, either—had swarmed at them from outside the Hellmouth. Buffy was grateful for that, since she was SO not looking forward to fighting those nasty little black things with the horns—something about their empty, grinning faces creeped her out. But it also showed that the Watchers' spell, pretty as it was, must also be darn effective at containing the hell beasts. At least for now.

Of course, the Enemy might not have hauled out the big guns yet.

* * * *

The Destroyer roused. It was old, and cold, and hungry. It sent Its consciousness outward, sensing fear, and shaped Itself to match that fear; It became—something. It grew. Larger and larger It grew, gaining strength, casually seizing, crushing, and gobbling up scrambling minions to add to Its bulk.

It could smell her now, the Sweet One; though her delicious power was oddly scattered, she was nearby, and ready for gathering. How satisfying it would be to take her in, ingest her, make her one of Its own! Then her savor, rosy and warming, would be theirs forever. 

Perhaps not forever. It knew that eventually even she would dissolve into nothingness, no will, no resistance, her distinctiveness gone, just another automaton, scuttling to do Its will. But not for a long, long time; she was strong, the Sweet One, and she had called to It—while resisting Its answering call—for a long time. 

It grew, and shuddered, sweeping minions aside without a thought. The Hellmouth was open, and untold power lay within Its grasp. With mounting desire, It sought the exit, breaking through tunnels too small for it to pass, dislodging showers of rocks and debris, It moved purposefully toward the entrance, where a faint white light flickered. The Others—how weak, how few in number!—had mounted a puny resistance, but soon they would be smashed and destroyed forever. It exulted. How many millennia had passed since It had walked the earth, free to take, destroy, and consume? 

* * * *

"Ow!" Willow stumbled, arms flailing, and Spike hauled her up without breaking stride, half carrying her over the shuddering earth toward the barrier. A stitch stabbed her side, and her own ragged gasps sounded in her ears. But there was no time to stop, even for a moment; midnight would soon be upon them, and they had to be inside the barrier to perform their final spell. 

At last they reached the translucent barrier. Willow saw Giles, Xander, Jonathan, and Anya through the shimmering veil, their faces serene, their eyes closed. She was glad at least somebody was having a good time—not! Around the perimeter, Buffy and her demon army dashed back and forth, weapons flashing, arrows flying, battling a relentless onslaught of vampires and demons. The once-green lawn, littered with corpses, was stained with red, purple, yellow, and black blood, all blurred by a haze of vampire dust.

The earth beneath them shivered regularly now, up and down, as if trying to split itself open even more; but the Watchers' spell, that lovely spell that Willow had so envied, was strong as well as beautiful. It expanded with every heave, but drew itself closed again.

Only a few minutes left now. Willow saw Spike turn to face her. His hair stood on end, his shirt was torn, his face was streaked with grime—and there was a question in his blue eyes. Well, she was ready. With a nod, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and together they stepped through the barrier with a 'pop.' 

Once inside, they heard rumbling and crackling noises from the fissure; Willow flinched back as five or six wizened little hellbeasts scrambled up over the edge. Taking hold of his axe, Spike pushed her aside and prepared to do battle, but the little creatures ignored them both and ran blindly into the barrier. Willow stared open-mouthed as, one after another, they hit the shimmering wall and dissolved in sizzling smoke. Icy dread began to churn in the pit of her stomach.

"Uh-oh—that can't be good." She stared at Spike. "They…they were running away from something…"

"Mad with terror?" he suggested hopefully. "Of us?"

As he spoke the ground beneath her shuddered again, and she saw a bizarre shape struggle upward, glistening in the firelit rift. 

Willow gaped. What WAS that thing? On each side of a flat, bulbous head sprouted something bent and pointy—like pincers. Thin forelimbs seemed to be set right behind the head. Like the other hellbeasts, it was completely black, glossy and steaming. And whatever it was, it was enormous. Huge, round eyes turned from side to side, white and red highlights flickering.

As it fought its way upward, it spotted Willow, and those eyes seemed to bore into her, burning hot and cold. She staggered backward. It knew her! It was coming for her!

"Spike!" she cried. "Stop it! Kill it!"

He stood stock still. 

"Spike! What's wrong?" she screamed. 

Flames roared from the Hellmouth. Their time was almost up…

"Spike!" Sobbing, Willow pounded his shoulder with ineffective fists. "Now! Do the spell NOW!"

Slowly, Spike pulled away, backing up, step by step, halting just before his shoulders touched the barrier. Then she saw his face, pallid as the unseen moon and slack with shock, and his eyes held an expression she never, ever expected to see there.

Sheer terror.

TBC

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

"Horror covers all the sky,

Clouds of darkness blot the moon,

Prepare! for mortal thou must die,

Prepare to yield thy soul up soon — 

Fierce the tempest raves around,

Fierce the volleyed lightnings fly,

Crashing thunder shakes the ground,

Fire and tumult fill the sky. — 

Hark! the tolling village bell,

Tells the hour of midnight come,

Now can blast the powers of Hell,

Fiend-like goblins now can roam — "

Percy Bysshe Shelley


End file.
